sun and moon
by lejf
Summary: AU: Harry lives in the Wizarding World, in a dome shielded away from those dreadful Muggles. For hundreds of years they have lived in safety. But one day, those hundreds of years come to an end. One day, Harry and Draco stumble outside and can find no way back in. One day, they meet a man who is certainly no muggle at all, and together they must work to save wizardkind. HP/TR
1. Chapter 1

a/n cover img is temporary i'll change it later when i get it done

consider yourself warned: (a) character(s) who is not tom or harry will die in this short series. take care.

edit: oh shit on me let's pretend i didn't write blond as blonde

* * *

Everyone knows the tale of Hogwarts. Four of the greatest magic wielders that the world had ever seen. Four of the greatest who'd each embodied worthy traits. Four of the greatest who had helped create day and night in the Wizarding World. The Four… who had crumbled due to internal turmoil. Even the greatest could succumb to shouting and angry hexes.

Or, at least, that was what a certain Draco Malfoy was trying to convince Professor McGonagall about after he'd tackled Harry to the ground in the corridor and socked him straight in the jaw.

"I do not see other ' _great'_ students abandoning all self-control to their fists." Their professor said, her nostrils flaring. This was not the first time they'd been caught brawling this week. Or the second. Or the bloody third, for that matter. Their houses were probably recoiling with the sheer amount of house points lost. "The two of you! Mr Malfoy, what would your father say?" Harry caught an enraged spark in the blond's eyes, and almost, _almost_ felt pity. But he hated the git too much for that. "And _you_ too, Mr Potter. I'm sure your parents would be displeased. Both of you: detention this Friday, with Hagrid."

Harry let some relief into his shoulders. With Hagrid! Surely it wouldn't be too gruelling then. A sharp look from his professor warned him not to feel too grateful. Another quick dismissal and Malfoy was out of there, leaving Harry alone in an empty classroom with his annoyed Head of House who'd asked 'for a word with him'.

"I am, frankly, disappointed in you, Potter." At the very least, she didn't use his first name... Harry couldn't help but feel guilty anyway. " _Seven years._ You are in your final year of schooling; you ought to be a _role model_ for the younger children..."

By the time to lecture had finished, Harry felt sufficiently verbally lashed to return to his own seventh year dorms. Hermione and Ron were waiting for him there, and thus Harry received his second lecture for the evening. Ron, well, Ron just sat there looking rather awkward.

Oh, such was a normal day in Hogwarts, safely enclosed in the wards of the Wizarding World.

–––

Harry was no Boy-Who-Lived. He a little special in that he was one of Godric Gryffindor's descendants, but other than that, he was merely a boy with mediocre magic and mediocre grades, an aptitude for Defence, a sort of shimmering beauty if you looked for too long, and a stubbornness that people said was "true to Gryffindor." Said stubbornness was precisely why he stood there in his robes, in the night's cold, and refused the look at one blond git as Hagrid explained their duty for the night. Collecting potion ingredients from the Forbidden Forest. Right.

The Forest wasn't really very dangerous. He and Draco were used to venturing inside (for detentions, what else? The professors knew they ((Harry, at least)) were capable at survival), so he'd say there wasn't much that should terrify them anymore. The Forbidden Forest served a different use. It grew across the Hogwarts grounds, all the way up to the one boundary that determined their world. The wards. The wards that kept the Muggles out, like a dome. But Muggles… Merlin, Muggles were devious. Long ago they'd shadowed the stars. They'd constructed something huge, something up in the sky, that'd blotted out the sun.

Well, lucky they had magic, wasn't it? Harry glanced up at the artificial, magical moon. It was some sort of obscenely powerful and ancient relic. No wonder that the plants here were magical and all. But soon the white orb blinked in and out of view as they stepped beneath the canopy. Dark leaves took its place, rustling and sighing with the same wind that must've stirred all throughout the Wizarding World.

Hagrid and his hound, Fang, split off and Harry was forced to spend his sad hours with bloody Malfoy. The two worked in resolute silence, beneath the mottled moonlight, sticking their hands under trees to grope for mushrooms and the like. Harry wiggled his head under a tree's roots, looking for a telltale glow of a luminous fungus he was seeking, but he pulled out in disappointment. He also noticed, strangely enough, that the forest was suddenly very, very, dark.

Malfoy spoke first. "Potter…?"

"You couldn't have kept your mouth shut the whole night, like you usually do?" Harry grumbled in reply, moving on to another tree. He wasn't in the mood to have to cater to Malfoy's annoying antics.

"...Look up, Potter."

He did. Through the leaves, the dark solemn sky, the stars that weren't really there–

The moon was gone.

Harry stumbled on nothing. "What in the bloody hell, oh what the fuck _what the fuck–_ "

It was just an inky black sky, and he watched as the stars began to fade – no longer powered once the moon was lost. The clouds, too, dissipated, and there was just _blackness._ Black, the black between the stars, the suffocating black of being alone in a cave and no way out.

He glanced over at Malfoy, who'd dropped whatever mushrooms he'd been carrying. Their glow illuminated his terrified face. Harry heard a _point me_ and then Malfoy's wand was spinning in his hand endlessly. "What in Salazar's-"

"Salazar probably _caused_ this." Harry said dryly, trying to cover up his own instincts that suddenly screamed with the need to get out of the forest. "Running out into the Muggle world and all. Maybe he decided to finally come home and accidentally knock the lights out of the-"

"Oh, just _shut up,_ Potter." Malfoy hissed in reply, gathering the mushrooms into his arms again. At least they provided some light. Harry had a few stuffed into his robes as well, and he took them out to see. " _I'm_ getting out of here. You can stay in this filthy place if you want."

The forest felt very, very, dark. And honestly? Harry couldn't remember which direction they'd come from at all. He couldn't see any lights from the castle, only roots and branches and flickers of the forest's inhabitants. Malfoy started in some random direction, but Harry stopped him.

"Are you sure that's the right way?"

"Of course I'm sure," Malfoy sneered. "I'm not as bloody blind as you. Sometimes I wonder how you even manage to see to see anything at all. Are those glasses of yours for decoration? They must be, considering I've seen you trip enough times over your enormous head to shatter the poor lenses."

Harry let the insult slide, for once. Anger was somehow taking a backseat. Instead, he trailed after Malfoy in his haughty steps. He didn't want to split up because then things could do from bad to worse. Imagine if Malfoy got lost; Harry would get utterly skewered by Professor McGonagall. But now that he did squint, he could see some sort of distant light through the trees.

They walked and they walked and they walked, Harry fixing his eyes on Malfoy's white glistening hair, Malfoy looking ahead at who knew what. Probably the forest floor, or he would've stumbled on his fat feet already. The light was still incredibly far, and Harry didn't quite know what to think as they waded through the darkness. They couldn't have ventured this far from the castle. But then what was the light that they saw?

"Hey, Malfoy. Do you really think you know where you're-"

"Shut up, Potter."

Git. Harry tore his gaze away from the bobbing white mushroomhead only to notice something rather eerie.

"I mean, look at the trees, Malfoy." Malfoy did stop then, fixing his grey eyes on a nearby wooden trunk. The thing was withered and gnarled beyond belief, its branches and leaves looking sickly and mottled, its roots twisted in pain. All the trees they could see looked like this, actually. Harry couldn't see any of the usual wriggling flowers, or even small creatures. It was rather… ominous.

"I should've known you were scared of trees." The blond snorted. "You're hardly worthy of even the pathetic house Gryffindor. Just because we're in a part of the forest at you are unfamiliar with-"

"That means we're going the wrong way, doesn't it?"

Malfoy paused, and then his features twisted into a snarl. "Of course not."

"I'm calling bullshit-"

"If you have objections," Malfoy cut in, "you're perfectly free to go the other way, Potter."

"Watch me." Harry said, instead, and pointed his wand up to send a flare. As the red signal fizzed out in the sky, he saw Malfoy's lip curl. Probably because Harry was actually taking initiative.

A green signal shot up not a moment later, further back the way they came, luminous against the black that'd fallen across the sky. No doubt from Hagrid. Harry had to resist the urge to crow in Malfoy's ugly face, because he had been absolutely right! "Stuff it, Malfoy. Let's go."

Malfoy stewed in sullen silence as they picked their way across the roots, retracing their steps. They were getting out of their detention, really, but surely the fact that the lights of the world had gone out would overshadow their petty detention.

Harry should've known it was too easy. He should've know his night was going to well. Getting one up on Malfoy, getting out of detention… he should've seen Fate's curveball coming _right for his face–_

He walked straight into something very, very solid.

Malfoy's laughter grated on his ears, and Harry picked himself up off the ground to give him a withering glare. Then he turned around to bring that glare on the offending obstacle, except there was _nothing._ He had walked into the gap between two trees. He reached out a hand, only to come into contact with something unmistakably solid. White sparks swirled from where his fingers had stopped.

What in the bloody hell…?

Malfoy was no longer laughing, and he'd walked up to examine the invisible wall, too. A sort of suffocating silence had fallen over the two of them. A suffocating, expectant silence.

The white sparks leapt to life under their hands, shooting outwards to weave a huge spiderweb that kept and kept going, connecting in thousands of places at once, and suddenly-

-there was a white wall that seemed to be made of compact, roiling mist; it stretched all the way up into the black sky, subtly curving–it stretched out to every side. Harry could no longer see the forest inside.

The realisation hit like a train. It hit like the force of a tsunami, like falling into a river and being swept away by the currents, smashing on the rocks, only to glimpse a waterfall at the end.

It hit bloody _hard._

Malfoy had fallen to his knees beside Harry, his face impossibly pale. Harry was distantly aware that his legs had given way and he was leaning against a foreign, unknown tree. He remembered the green flare that flickered on the other side of the wall. He remembered once when he was younger his parents had taken him to see the wards, their dome, their safe haven. They'd said it was white because white was all the colours combined, and the walls between the Muggle and Magical world were just that powerful.

 _They were outside the wards._

He looked up at the black sky again, and then turned around where he could see distant lights on the horizon. Lights… from a Muggle society. no matter how hard he stared, he couldn't see the stars, because right now there must've been an enormous platform above the entire Wizarding World. Above their heads.

They were outside the wards.

Malfoy cast something against the white roiling wall and his spell shattered uselessly on the surface. They were outside, they were outside, _they were outside-!_

Malfoy keeled over and fainted.

–––

They spent their waking hours in a flicker of denial. They slept leaning against the wards. They cast whatever they could at it, and it did not give. They didn't talk… because they didn't want to acknowledge that it was real. The darkness came to pass, light gently streaming through the trees, and... finally, it was too much.

"We're going to have to go." Harry said tiredly, watching Malfoy's head snap up towards him.

"And to where, exactly? Walk straight into Muggle territory where they'll-"

"We need to go." Harry repeated, firmly. "Imagine if the Muggles found us here. They're probably the ones who stole the moon, and they're probably the ones who made the wards lapse in the first place. They'll _know_ that we're wizards if they find us here." They'd be experimented on. They'd be subjected to all sort of cruel things that the history classes said Muggles did. Burnt at stake. Hunted.

"And if the wards falter again? If we can get back, but you're too busy traipsing around with _Muggles_ to see?"

"Then there's a problem because the wards are failing so often." Harry said, feeling something clench in his throat. "We're stuck out here, Malfoy. We might as well find out what the Muggles did while we are. The wards might… might fall eventually, anyway. So let's get moving. Let's actually _do_ something."

He saw Malfoy's face darken, but the boy got to his feet anyway and fell into pace a little behind Harry. Now that he looked, the light in the distance seemed to be brighter. "Do you even know anything about Muggles?"

"Would any well-respecting wizard? So perhaps _you_ would..." Malfoy replied scathingly. Because of course, who would bother learn about _Muggles?_

"No, I'm too busy topping you in Defence."

"How very like you to brag about the one thing you _can_ do, Potter. It's pitiful."

Harry grinned a little smugly to himself. "You've just chained yourself forever into admitting my Defence is good." He muttered.

After walking for hours (Malfoy complained about his feet far too often), a strange scent invaded Harry's nostrils. The pungence seemed a little like dust and oil. How peculiar.

The mass of trees, Harry also noticed, seemed to come to a point where they simply… stopped. Abruptly, at a very clear line. Casting a small Disillusionment on themselves, they approached this abrupt dropoff. Was it a cliff? Perhaps they were on a mountain? There were mountains in the Wizarding World, where giants liked to hide. There were lakes and streams, forests and plains, and all the space they needed for the magical society to spread out in their miniature countries. Harry thought he'd seen it all – his parents would tell him of the terrains and the lands in their tales – but the sight that met his eyes when they stepped out from the trees, flooded with sunlight, shocked the breath from him.

A gaping hole in the earth. A wound in the land. All this dirt exposed bare, this artery that had been torn right from the planet. Harry got to his knees to peer over the edge. It went down down down, its walls bearing lights, down down down where strange creatures rested. Long necked _things_ sat idly, and he watched as one suddenly roared to life. It shook the very earth as it bellowed, and then it lowered its head to the ground, digging in and biting harshly. The trench did not only stretch down, but also to the left and right, Harry realised.

Those bright yellow beasts were digging a trench around the wards?

Draco jabbed at his shoulder, drawing Harry's attention to a bridge that spanned the trench. It was a flat beam with ropes at its sides, and with Draco clutching his shoulder, Harry crossed the thing. He knew he wouldn't fall. The beam was wide and there were the ropes, but looking at that torches that outlined the drop into darkness, into the Muggle's doing… it caused his stomach to twist and churn. They only breathed once they reached the other grassy side, where there were no trees to be seen.

Harry had been so focused on his feet, on watching his step, on looking down the trench, that he hadn't realised there was yet another wall to face. The most shocking thing was that the wall was recognisable: it was a simple wire fence, and Harry could see on the other side were odd, squat, plain buildings. Was Muggle society close to the Wizarding World?

"Are you really this idiotic?" An unseen Draco hissed into his ear, because apparently Harry had voiced his question. "Of course they're going to have people close. And those people are going to be fucking _guards._ That bloody trench behind us is a defence mechanism in the making." There was a quaver in Draco's voice that the boy couldn't hide.

That was fine. Harry was also incredibly terrified.

His terror levels leapt up the scale when they approached the simple fence and he realised he _could see his hand._ He jerked Draco back so quickly that they both fell to the earth, Harry's hand quickly fading from visibility again. "They- They can block our magic." He whispered. Draco let loose a steady stream of curses. "How are we supposed to get out?"

Draco was looking back at the trench. "You don't figure Muggles are huge and yellow, do you?"

"Muggles look like us." Harry paused. "You want us to pretend to be Muggles? We haven't seen any yet! We've got no idea what they look like. They might even be able to sense magic."

Draco sneered. "So then what? We sit here and find a simple, easy, _unguarded_ door?"

Harry pointed his wand at the wire fence. "We haven't tried this yet." He said, mouth dry as he backed away. He felt magic swirling up beneath his veins, and with all the determination he could muster, he muttered: " _Confringo."_ Flames exploded from his wand and streaked towards the fence, singing and searing grass, roaring as it approached. Hot white sparks suddenly erupted across the fence, sputtering and dying. His spell connected. The entire thing blew inwards, sending dirt and wire flying.

A terrible shrieking noise started up. It was an alarm – one that wailed so loudly Harry thought his head was going to burst.

"You didn't think this through." Malfoy was shouting into his ear, gripping his arm. "Which way do we go? Which way?"

"What do you mean, which way? Of course we're going in!" Harry wrenched himself out of Malfoy's hold and stalked towards to hissing hole in the fence.

"They'll have all sorts of dangerous _things_ in there–"

"Then where? Back by the wards? Over the trench? There's _nowhere for us to go–"_

"I _don't know,_ but we can't bloody go in there–!"

"We can't stay here! They'll come looking. Hurry up Malfoy, fucking hell, I swear if it's your Slytherin cowardice that gets us killed…"

" _Gryffindors_ are idiotically brave; Slytherins just have a sense of self-preservation. Why'd you blow the bloody thing up without even _thinking_!"

"I'll fucking _hex_ you silent. Get in here before Muggles show up! _"_ Malfoy felt an invisible Harry grab him and drag him through, yowling. "Shut up!"

Harry was so absorbed in dragging and shouting at Malfoy that he didn't realise someone had exited the plain buildings and was leisurely striding across the grass towards the smoking fence. Not until there was a very distinct _click_ that somehow managed to reach Harry's ears over the alarms. Harry turned, very slowly, towards a Muggle who held a strange sort of wand at them. The Muggle _did_ look like them – human, with the greyest eyes – but he was wearing some sort of strange black and white buttoned attire with no robes to be seen.

"I forget, you wouldn't know what guns do." The Muggle said in a pleasant tone above the sirens. Pleasant or no, the threat was there. He pointed the wand at the earth and suddenly with a _bang!_ that made Harry jump a foot into the air, there was a hole in the earth. He turned the wand back at Harry's head, which shouldn't have been possible because Harry was Disillusioned, for Merlin's sake. "Now imagine what this could do to your head. _Drop the illusion._ " He hissed.

Harry did, with no hesitation. The Muggle would've blown their brains out with equal pause, and he seemed to already know where they were. Harry felt awfully vulnerable, standing there against a Muggle ready to kill. Draco was trembling slightly behind him. He still had his wand in his hand, so what he needed was a non-verbal spell.

The Muggle cocked the 'gun'. "Drop your wands," he said, almost casually, as if he threatened people to death everyday. He probably did. The man carried a dangerous aura around him: one that commanded obedience and promised pain otherwise. Harry let his phoenix tail hit the grass and saw Malfoy do the same. The Muggle then raised a hand to his ear and then began to speak. "Malfunction in D11. Yes, we'll need to get the fence replaced. No, no other disturbances." He paused, but the 'gun' was still trained steady and his gaze didn't waver from the two wizards. "Tell Geoff I'm heading home early. I'll be back later. Think of it as an overdue coffee break."

After the seemingly one-sided conversation with no one, the Muggle turned his attentions back to them. "Robes off." He said curtly. The wailing noises stopped, and for that, Harry was grateful.

Draco opened his mouth to protest, and before Harry could even blink, there was another _bang!_ and the dirt by Draco's foot was missing. Harry needed a non-verbal, wandless spell. But it was ridiculous, because all spells were slower than this… than this _gun._ So if Harry could even cast nonverbally and wandlessly, as soon as the Muggle saw the red light of the Stunner, he would have Harry dead. But maybe Draco would still get out alive.

Harry considered it. He really did. But could Malfoy survive?

" _Robes._ "

Harry unfastened his Hogwarts robes and let them fall to the ground. Why on earth did the Muggle want their robes off? To prevent them from hiding any secret weapons?

Their fallen robes burst into flames. Their wands flew into the Muggle's hand.

Harry felt like someone had punched the breath out of him. He felt like someone had just dropped a letter into his hands that told him his parents had died. _The Muggle could do magic._ Muggles had mastered magic, too. Draco was looking dangerously close to fainting again. There hadn't even been a wand or word involved. Muggles must've somehow found magic users and experimented on them… The only known wizard that was out in the Muggle world was Salazar Slytherin, and that had been hundreds of years ago. Salazar had apparently insisted on leaving so that he could continue adapting and improving the wards from the outside, specially tuned to withstand the Muggle's advancements. Every Gryffindor had always laughed at the story. _Slytherin,_ with _Muggles?_ Surely not. It was probably a story to cover up an embarrassing death.

While Harry tried to realign the stars and reconsider everything he'd ever known in his life, the Muggle unbuttoned his own blazer and tossed it towards Harry, who caught it in a daze. "Put it on." He ordered. Harry did, pulling it over his button-up shirt. The Muggle looked at them appraisingly. He looked rather like them, now, in his own button-up shirt that was cut rather differently. "That'll do. Follow me. Don't say a word. Don't run. You won't get away." The last statement was a promise.

The Muggle tucked his weapon and their wands onto his belt, into some sort of sheath, and then motioned for the two wizards to follow. Harry and Draco trailed after him in a detached fashion. They were dead. They were here, surrounded by Muggles who could do magic… Muggles who sent _one_ of their number to apprehend the two of them. And that one had done a good job, too. The Muggle had the audacity to turn his back on them and lead without looking back. They approached the plain buildings, the grass replaced by concrete slabs. The place seemed empty. Well, no other Muggles were walking out and about. Harry assumed they all stayed inside the strange buildings.

Harry felt, rather than saw, Draco tense. He knew what Draco was thinking. A physical fight – he and Draco were still rather fit from all that Quidditch, after all – of two against one, with the advantage of surprise. Harry shook his head furiously when he caught the glint in Draco's eye. He had the nagging feeling they _had_ no element of surprise, and the Muggle still had far more weapons than they. The Muggle had said he'd be going 'home', so unless home was a codeword for a wizard killing factory, it would probably be easier to break out of than… here. Draco was being irrational. Attacking here in this secure location was ridiculous.

Draco's black shoe scuffed the concrete as he lunged.

The Muggle whipped around so quickly Harry swore he might've even been faster than the gun, slamming a hand against Draco's head and at the same time bring up a knee to Draco's gut.

Harry's wizard companion slumped, unconscious. The Muggle picked him up with ease and tossed Draco over his shoulder. Harry really, really, did not know what to feel aside from panic. As they walked by the buildings, the Muggle turned towards one of the _walls_ of the buildings and spoke.

"Perks of the job, Geoff." Harry noticed there was an odd black box surrounded by what could only be glass attached to the side of the wall. Was the Muggle speaking to the box? "Lackeys will keep throwing themselves at you."

Then the Muggle continued on as if nothing had happened, leading Harry past identical buildings. Their footsteps seemed to echo. Harry's hands felt sweaty. Was he being led to some sort of torture chamber? A facility for experimenting on wizards? This entire facility looked like it was made for torturing. At one point he caught sight of a huge grey field with giant white beasts resting in it. Were they guard dogs?

So when they finally emerged into another grey field filled with colourful, rectangular contraptions, Harry couldn't help but feel apprehensive. The Muggle walked all the way up to a black tin. He wrapped his hand around a handle on the side of the tin and the tin made a noise that caused Harry to jump. Then the Muggle opened the wall of the tin and tossed Malfoy's unconscious form in. "Get in." The Muggle told Harry, who was eyeing the thing apprehensively. Was it a machine that stole their magic? "For fuck's sake, get in the car. It's not going to hurt you."

Placated, Harry entered the 'car' and found the interior surprisingly soft. If he was still terrified of being tortured to death inside the 'car', the fact that the Muggle also got in relieved him. Then the tin began to vibrate and Harry clutched onto his seat in slight terror. Was the tin going to teleport them? Why use such a large portkey? Suddenly Harry was struck by a strange sense of inertia.

There were glass windows and Harry hurriedly pressed his face against them, realising the view outside was moving. They were _moving._ They were in a moving tin. He saw the Muggle's hand press something, and then heard a rather familiar sound. Violin strings. He'd never been one for music, and he had no idea where the Muggle suddenly got a violin from, but he was soothed by strings. The Muggle stopped at one point, leaning out the window and talking to another Muggle, but then they continued moving.

Harry was grateful for the violins. Otherwise the 'car' would've been filled with a very heavy silence.

"You're not turning us in." Harry said, suddenly struck by the fact that this was not how test subjects were treated.

"Astute observation." The Muggle replied, dryly. "Any other brilliant comment you'd like to make?" This man was worse than Malfoy, who was still draped, unconscious, across the seats beside Harry. Their captor had his hands on some sort of wheel, and Harry realised he was controlling the movement of the car. There were all sorts of other knobs and buttons that eluded him, though, but the Muggle twisted and turned with ease. He seemed to be a man who knew exactly where he was and exactly what he was doing.

Harry thought for a long moment. This Muggle could use magic. He had said he was 'going home early' and that there were 'no disturbances.' He was protecting and hiding Harry and Draco. He had seen them through their Disillusionment. He must've sensed their magic in the first place.

The implications clicked.

"You're a wizard." Harry said, numbly. "How–"

"My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle." There was a mirror up near the front of the car, and through it was reflected the mysterious man's smirk. "And I am the heir of Slytherin."

* * *

a/n everyone knows light= waves=diffraction. harry wasn't exactly incorrect when he said it was dark because there was a huge floating platform over the dome/wards that was still casting them into shadow, but in the day it _will_ be light because light diffracts around the edges

if you have questions about this au and how it came to be, i'll answer questions in author's notes or write a prequel sometime


	2. Chapter 2

a/n i am true to my word... this is a HP/TR fic. draco will not be jealous. he will not hit on either harry or tom. there will be draco interaction with harry, but it will be solely platonic.

non-canon tom: actually has intact soul, no wizarding prejudices to fall under, and different childhood altogether. i mean he actually got to play his 'im special' card. but what _i_ believe is his core – his callous nature, that is – should hold true

if it doesn't then im incompetent lol

* * *

"I wasn't about to incriminate myself out there." Riddle said calmly when Harry demanded why he hadn't revealed his identity sooner, shrugging his blazer back on. "There are always eyes and ears. I'll pull a few strings to wipe the logs later."

Riddle's home was surprisingly cosy and humble. The house itself was small, but the large garden that surrounded it was a nice sort of pristine. Harry was sat in the living room on a very comfortable couch, surrounded by odd contraptions. There appeared to be many grooves as handles. Harry would investigate later.

The place had a running theme of black and white with hints of glossy wood here and there. Harry idly traced the white armrest. Draco was beside him; he had woken with a well-placed _enervate._

"Now tell me, how are you two out here?" Riddle asked politely, moving into his kitchen where he began opening cupboards and preparing tea.

"We were unlucky." Harry explained. "In the wrong place at the wrong time."

Draco nodded and added: "with the wrong people." Harry ignored him.

"The Muggles have probably stolen the sun and moon." Harry said. "They must've managed a small hole in the wards, like the one Draco and I slipped out of, and taken it."

Riddle padded over to them, offering cups of tea. They both took the drinks gratefully. "The sun is a powerful artifact?"

"Very." Harry nodded, tasting the drink and brightening. The tea was _good._ Damn. "It's both the sun and moon. The sky, I guess. It's how we kept surviving after the Muggles blocked out the sunlight."

"Then it'll take a few months for all the wards to fall." Riddle said, leisurely sipping his drink, although Harry was anything but calm. Only a few months? "Muggles work quick, and surpassing the wards isn't as difficult as you think."

The man placed his tea down on a table in front of the couch before he began to pace, his hands in his pockets. "I'm sure you've heard before that too much magic renders electricity defunct." They hadn't. What in Merlin's name was 'electricity'? "The opposite is also true. With your sun relic acting as an energy source, the Muggles will have a modified generator set up in no time. Their huge surge of electricity will overcome your magic. Your wards will fall."

Harry absently noted that Riddle didn't consider himself 'one of them.'"So we have to stop them." He ignored Draco's eyeroll.

Riddle looked at him curiously. "Yes, 'we' do." He stopped pacing to lock eyes with them. "One thing you should know before you fling yourself wholeheartedly into this conflict is that, as long as they are alive, Muggles will always attempt to break your wards. This stunt is only one of many in the past, present, and future."

"So you mean–"

Draco cut in. "He means that he personally thinks the easiest way to end this is for all Muggles to die, right?" He eyed the tall, lithe Tom Riddle that stood before them. "I've heard people like you before. People who think we should drop the wards and go to war." Harry knew Draco's stance on the subject: the bloody blond wanted to eradicate Muggles, too. Except he was probably too much of a coward to get into the fight himself. Harry, of course, thought some sort of peace was achievable. They could gather all the wizards from all around the world, all the magical creatures, stuff them into a dome, and still maintain a fragile sort of peace. Why should Muggles be otherwise?

"That is only a matter of my personal opinion." Riddle said smoothly. _Diplomatically,_ Harry whispered to himself. "Muggles will continue to grow. They will continue to harness power from their sun, their wind – everything in, and eventually out, of this planet. Your magic will not keep them at bay forever. They must be halted."

"They've got the sun and moon, we don't have a plan, and you're already talking mass murder?" Harry asked disbelievingly. "Mass murder doesn't even cut it _._ " He knew he was being rude (Malfoy's dirty look told him that enough), but he had to speak up.

"I don't have a plan?" Riddle asked airily, a glint of a threat in his eye. "Oh, no – surely not – my entire life I have been working towards thwarting Muggles. I go up in the month. Worry not about your precious wards."

"Up where?"

Riddle must've been incredibly patient. He picked up his tea again, draining it and placing it away in the kitchen. He was heard opening and shutting a few drawers, doing who-knew-what. "They've called it the Omega power plant." He explained. "It's a nuclear power plant right above your Wizarding World. And now, I expect, they'll be keeping your sun up there."

"So wait, what?" Harry asked when Riddle re-entered the room. He wasn't sure whether to be more stunned that the thing blocking their sunlight actually had a 'nuclear power plant' on it, or that Riddle had the permission to visit it. "You don't need us to do anything."

"Correct. I am a..." The man smirked, " _capable_ individual. Young as I may be, I have finally secured myself enough authority to fly up to oversee the processes in the power plant, and will subsequently shut them down." His smirk grew slightly wider, as if to a joke of his own. "Now, as you two are both safe and secure in my home, I am going to have to go back to work. Especially considering I need to clear the logs of your arrivals. Good day."

"Thank you." Malfoy said stiffly from his seat, successfully unhinging Harry's jaw in the process. Malfoy thanking somebody?

"Good...bye?"

Riddle gave them a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Do not attempt to leave the premises. Do not perform magic." Grey eyes met green. "I will know." And then he swept out of the living room, out the front door. Harry and Draco sat in suffocating silence for a moment on opposite sides of the couch.

Harry sipped at his tea.

Draco finished his cup. He set it down delicately.

"Do you trust him? I don't." Harry blurted, the words tumbling from him.

"I knew you were going to open your mouth, Potter, but you've truly outdone yourself this time with your lack of finesse."

"Oh cut the bullshit Malfoy, you know what I'm saying."

"I'm not enough of a _Gryffindor_ to blubber out everything I know."

"But you're going to, aren't you? I swear, Malfoy, don't you dare–"

"Don't I dare?" Malfoy's eyes were glittering now with promised malice. "This man, this _Riddle_ has both the right ideas and the means. Of course I'm going to tell him about what the sun and moon can and should do."

"That's a sentence to slaughter." Harry said darkly. Any heir of the four founders, allegedly, could unlock the sun/moon relic's 'true power'... If the relic was enough to sustain the Wizarding World for hundreds of years, then its unrestrained power would be something terrible to witness. It could eradicate Mugglekind. Or, consequently, it could probably strengthen the wards. The four founders had previously cast their strongest enchantments on the relic, preventing it from ever falling into nefarious hands of their future generations, securing its place as nothing but a star in the Wizarding sky.

But now the shooting star had fallen and a wish could be made.

"Do I care for Muggles?" Malfoy leant back against the armrest, looking wholly unconcerned. It made Harry's blood boil. He was such a stupid, arrogant _prat._

"Are you kidding me?" Harry demanded. "Have we even _tried_ any sort of peace? Or are you really that self-entitled that you think you should eradicate an entire planet? This isn't just Muggles, this is the entire Earth you're talking about raining armageddon on. Will the wards even hold against that sort of thing?"

"You could just as easily use the moon to strengthen the wards." Malfoy hummed. "Of course I'm not confident about the details, but I'm sure Riddle could use it."

"You're insane, Malfoy–" Harry began, because even though in Hogwarts they were fed tall tales about Muggles, Harry would never condone a brainless… sweep.

"Insane?" Malfoy laughed, swinging his feet up onto the couch. "No, no. That might be you. Do you want a war, Potter? We can let them live. We can let them eventually break the wards and overwhelm us with sheer numbers. The wards are already faltering! Don't you remember the populations they predicted in class? Eight _billion_ Muggles _._ We won't stand a chance.

We can tell Riddle to end it all before it happens. Hell, if you want to satisfy your Gryffindor urges, you can go ask if you can help him. Get that sun into Riddle's hands and turn it up full blast."

There was a pause as a plan began to form in Harry's mind. He _could_ ask to go with Riddle… because he was a descendant of Gryffindor. As long as he could get to the relic first, he could use it to– to–

Well, he wasn't entirely sure of that part yet, but he knew he could do something.

The conversation dropped to a lull as Harry ventured to explore the other sections of the house. It was humble: a living room (and a balcony) connected to a kitchen, a bedroom behind a shut door, and a pristine-seeming bathroom. Harry was intrigued at the designs, actively opening and shutting odd cupboards (ovens) that made noises at him (microwaves) and seemed vaguely alarmed when he turned a knob and caused a flame to spark (stoves). Everything seemed _slick._ Clean cut, with defined edges and little embroidery and embellishment.

Harry suddenly realised there was only one bedroom, and that there was only one couch. He supposed he'd have to sleep on the floor because pretty princess Malfoy wouldn't deign to such _plebian_ acts. And Harry wasn't uncouth enough to just boot him off.

He opened the door to Tom's bedroom at one point, just for a peek, and what he did manage to glimpse of it was _light._ Soft creamy colours mixed in with the occasional black panels on the walls. A wide bed framed with white. A huge window spanning one of the walls. With the curtains drawn, the afternoon cast a glow across the room. Harry wasn't sure it matched Tom's personality. Tom seemed to be harsh and curt and commanding, whereas his bedroom... was otherworldly. It was ethereal and soft in places, yet there was still the stylish contrast of black and white. Harry glimpsed an immaculate desk and shelf, and then decided that he had pried enough. The door shut behind him as he returned to the living room.

"Okay." He said, drawing Malfoy's attention. The blond on the couch looked like he had been preparing to go to sleep. Lazy ass. "So, say I want to Gryffindor this. What then?"

Malfoy gave him a piercing look – one that made Harry seriously wonder if Malfoy knew what he was intending to do. And then the blond kicked one of his feet up, resting it along the top of his couch. Harry wrinkled his nose at the lack of manners. "Use your own head."

"What?"

"I'm not a Gryffindor. I'm not going to come with you, why would I conjure a plan for you?" Malfoy sneered at Harry's idiocy.

Harry stared at him for a moment. What exactly had he expected? Of course Malfoy was a Slytherin through and through: self-preservation. He supposed he thought maybe Malfoy would've been a little ambitious… or maybe Harry just wanted someone equally as ignorant of the Muggle world to accompany him, if he wanted to get to the sun/moon before Riddle. He'd have to ask Riddle to take him up alongside him. But Riddle seemed to be someone who acted alone.

Harry knew nothing about the Muggle world. He didn't know how Riddle was 'going up' or how he'd get up too. After all, Riddle had spent his entire life securing a place in this 'nuclear power plant'. Harry didn't even know what a nuclear power plant was! He didn't know where the sun would be, he didn't know what weapons the muggle would wield, he just didn't know anything.

He needed Riddle. That was fact. Gryffindor as he might be, Harry wasn't stupid enough to leave the house to go searching for answers. As a wizard, if he was found…

He needed to hope Riddle would give him a chance to come with. As for now, he couldn't do anything.

Leaving Malfoy on the couch, Harry crossed the living room, throwing open the curtains and exposing the black and white into bright sunlight. The balcony stood outside. It wasn't really a balcony, he realised. It was a room with walls of glass that doubled as huge sliding doors. It was filled with sunlight, black pillars at its four corners, white marble at its floor. Outside the garden bloomed in its full glory, shielding the home from the outside world.

The queen of the home – the centrepiece – Harry recognised to be a pianoforte.

He didn't know at all how to play. He'd never seen one, actually. He turned. Malfoy was watching. That rich ponce probably had one in his home. The most piano-like instruments Harry tended to see were harpsichords, fortepianos, clavichords… Even so, he couldn't help but think that the piano here stood in a glass display. Like a cabinet: for show. It had its own stage in Riddle's home, as if it were a priceless antique.

How far had muggles advanced, truely?

The house was beautiful, intimate. Harry couldn't help but feel like an intruder. As if the architecture spoke of Riddle's soul; as if the place, small as it was, was the only land where the man felt free–

–(as free as he could feel… a wizard who had never lived with his kind–

–and who would see to his cage burn in the flames of the sun.)

–––

Tom Marvolo Riddle drove in silence, listening to voices that were relayed to his headset. He had left a bug in the living room. Rigging up his own home was distasteful, but in this case...

How very interesting.

He pulled over at the compound, lost in thought. He had things to mull. A long-held rage to simmer. A bittersweet victory to savour. But first things first, as his black shoes clicked against the concrete, he had a man to visit.

 _Beep._ His keycard was accepted. He stepped through a door, suddenly plunged into darkness, and said softly, "good afternoon, Geoff."

The door shut silently behind him.

Ahead there was the glow of screens – the glow of an entire wall of communications and security. "Heya Tom," Geoff said at where he was seated. His back was to the approaching man, his face illuminated by the white. The chair was enormous. It covered Geoff like a shield – no easy spells here. It was bulletproof, too. Tom knew.

The man spoke on glibly. "I'm just running over footage of the blowup at the fence now. I honestly have no idea what on earth happened there-"

Tom's footsteps were steady. His handgun slid from its holster slowly, like a serpent rearing to strike. The click of the safety was deliberate, distinct, over the sound of Geoff's speech.

"–what an electrical surge outta the blue, I mean it must be unnatural–" Tom was right behind the chair, now.

Geoff dove for the floor.

Tom's smirk widened. Geoff rolled, bringing up his weapon. He never even saw the hand Tom had pointed at him.

" _Obliviate."_

The security man's head lolled back, the pistol from his hand clattering uselessly against the floor. Tom crouched down to look at the man's suddenly blank face and chuckled. Good man, Geoff. Tom knew how Geoff liked to play his games. The man was a 'shoot first, ask questions later' man. And Geoff was renown for being lightning quick. But of course, he wouldn't turn around in his chair and shoot if he thought Tom had a gun.

Tom fished into the man's pocket and brought up a small, entangled device. Made for creating sudden surges in electricity. It was off.

Evidently, Geoff wasn't a very cautious man. Tom knew that. He knew Geoff thought it was either magic or the gun, and he knew Geoff thought Tom had been about to pull the trigger.

But Tom could do much worse than put a bullet between someone's eyes.

" _Imperio."_

–––

"Muggles haven't diverged that far from us." Malfoy said. "You should know how to prepare a meal."

"No," Harry said, holding a frying pan and pot. They were in the kitchen: Malfoy at the bar and Harry by the stove. Evening had emerged, but the two hadn't managed to puzzle out the lights and they didn't want to risk any magic _lumos_ , so they were stumbling around in an environment that was just a little too dim. "No."

"Of course _I_ can't. Malfoys do not cook–"

"Are you just doing this to piss me off or are you actually stupid." Harry asked flatly. "We live in Hogwarts. We don't cook. We wouldn't have made anything when we were younger than eleven. Are you sure there's anything going through your brain?"

Malfoy seemed to ignore him as he plowed on. "There's a pan, a fire, and food. It's really just an automated version of your kitchen. You'll puzzle it out. I'm sure you've got experience with the dish-making itself. You must've been made servant in your household before, as you're much too poor to afford a real one."

Harry returned the utensils to their rightful place on the wall with an expression of disdain. He wondered how Riddle would feel to have Draco's teeth somewhere in his carpet. "My parents are both Aurors." He gritted. "Yeah, you're right, we must be poor."

Draco snorted a bitter laugh. "Yes yes, the righteous brigade is here. I hear you. Your parents play heros. Mine play people _._ There's a difference."

"There is, and that's that my parents are looked upon as _good wizards_ responsible for holding up society–"

"Is that what you think?" Malfoy bit out, his tone suddenly terrifyingly cold. "The difference is that there's one hell more of a chance that one day you're going to find out that your parents aren't going to come home anymore."

The blond took a deep breath. Harry was frozen by the countertop.

"And when people come for you, it's a mindless act of vengeance." Malfoy spoke detachedly, now. "When people come for me, it's a bribe. A political play."

Why was he…? Harry scrambled after Malfoy's train of thought. "You're thinking about dying." He concluded.

"Aren't _you_?" His biggest rival in Hogwarts asked. "You're thinking about all those Muggles. Dying… without a choice, without a trace. Just gone in an inferno."

"We've been over this a hundred times, Malfoy."

"A hundred times and you still don't get it." A hint of the normal Malfoy peered out from under the mask. "What is it about Muggles that's demanding you to risk your parent's lives? Your friends? People who live down the road. That old coot Dumbledore. Your mother's coworker who keeps sending you biscuits…? Don't lie, I've seen you receive them at breakfasts.

"You think Muggles are still salvageable. You think they'll give up and kneel. _You_ think they won't rip out our throats."

"I don't think that." Harry said, hollowly. "You're prejudiced. I just think they deserve a chance."

Malfoy paused, and instead he said: "Who gives chances? Do they give chances in the Wizengamot when they've got a murderer of hundreds under their nose?"

"That's only one person. They _know_ that person well."

"If you're so adamant, then go out there and get to learn Muggles." Malfoy said curtly. "Go. See if they're worth your 'chance'."

"I can't _go out there_ just like that, I'll have to have Riddle guide me, and Merlin knows he's prejudiced–"

"With good reason." Malfoy snapped.

"No," Harry replied, equally as sharply. "If you want me to build a judgement, it'll be _my_ judgement."

Malfoy looked away, and he slipped off the bar stool he had been seated on. The blond seemed to sway as he walked. This was a lost cause.

He knew what Harry's call would be. It would be exactly what it always was.

As the blond disappeared back into the living room, Harry heard the front door open, and so he also peered out from the kitchen.

"You seriously didn't find the lights." Came Riddle's voice from where he was removing his shoes. Harry saw him silhouetted by the open door, the evening light, straightening up and shutting the door behind him. Then dim yellow light blinked on and the house transformed. The lights had been embedded in the walls, interwoven with the lined patterns on the walls and the ceiling. It reminded Harry of Riddle's room: a soft, homely glow emerging from behind black wooden panels.

Merlin, what _was_ Harry doing here? Here, listening to _Malfoy_ preach morality; here, watching the actions of two mass murderers unfold; here, intruding on a man's private home… The incomprehensibility of the situation seemed to strike him all at once. What on earth was he doing.

He was doing this because he was stuck and lost. He was doing this because he had to save people, Muggles or no. Foolishly gallant as it may be.

(He knew somewhere in him that this was an impossible decision. Like letting a criminal go, not knowing if rehabilitation had succeeded. It was a battle between hope that the crime would never occur again. Despair that it would. But his heart was set. _So was Riddle's and Malfoy's._ ) Bloody hell. And the powers of the sky relic were still vague.

Riddle was entering the kitchen, in his black slacks, grey tie, white shirt and socks. Socks… For years of divergence, Muggles had developed such similar attire. Riddle in socks was strange. What an immaculate, guarded man with his shields down. Except, really, his shields weren't down at all. Harry and Malfoy prevented him from peeling away his masks while they were there.

"One of you, come in and I'll teach you how to cook." Riddle didn't even know their names. Harry supposed they just mattered to him so little. Which was sad, really. Truly, truly, saddening. Riddle had likely never met a wizard before. Never met somebody like him, and now… he'd come to terms with being so alone that he didn't care for their company at all.

Harry couldn't possibly place himself in those shoes. In a world so devoid of hope.

"This is a refrigerator." Riddle said, pointing at the box of cold Harry had previously peeked at. "Stove, dishwasher," he gestured again. "I'm going to pay for what you're eating, but I'm not going to fry them for you. This knob turns on the gas – you don't need to manually light a fire like you might back at home. And you're set."

Harry stared blankly. Riddle's instructions were essentially as vague as Malfoy's directions, but here, Harry wasn't allowed to complain. He approached the fridge and opened it to scour for familiar foods, while Riddle exited the kitchen as he loosened his tie.

He froze as he heard Malfoy speak to Riddle. "You know, the sun can grant you what you want." There was a pause as Riddle undoubtedly focused his full attention on the blond. "As the heir of Slytherin, it can do your bidding. You can touch it and feed it your magic until the world becomes a desert. You can use the moon to strengthen the wards on the Wizarding World and then the sun to incinerate everything else."

There was a very, very, long pause. Harry stood stock still with a bag of carrots in his hands.

"At one price." He heard Malfoy murmur. "The sun demands fuel. You'll burn to ashes."

Harry hadn't known that. He felt like Malfoy was saying it as much as for him as Riddle.

"How terribly unfortunate it is," came the other man's tightly controlled reply, "that I've wasted so many years of my life. That I've wasted all of this: the home, the work, the everyday I have lived hiding what I truly am... All of this to create a Tom Riddle to come home to, a Tom Riddle that would walk the streets as a Muggle just so I could thwart them again and again. Over and over. A Riddle who would tear them down every single time–"

– _(to protect a people he had never met,) Harry thought, mournfully–_

"–A Riddle who'd one day find a woman, rear a child and give them his secrets and his legacy. A world so far removed…" He trailed off, musing.

"How terribly unfortunate that I've wasted my life." Riddle finished lightly. Harry heard Malfoy shift uncomfortably. "Because I will not be coming home. Forget 'a month'. I could go up tomorrow and the Muggles would fall.

"You," Harry guessed Riddle had pointed to Malfoy. "How sure are you of your relic's abilities?"

"Very." Malfoy replied. "One of my grandfathers had a client that asked for aid in tearing down the relic's wards. He had a journal written by one of the founders themselves, describing the power of the sun and moon."

"It's settled then." Riddle said simply, and Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. Riddle was deciding to execute all Muggles tomorrow? Riddle was willing to give up his life? He shut the fridge and reentered the living room, fully prepared to object.

"Riddle, if we're going to die tomorrow, do you think you could at least take us out to see a bit of the Muggle world tonight?" He asked. Malfoy's words rung in his head. _Make a judgement._ Perhaps in one night he could try stall Riddle's judgement… just maybe. "Or do you think you could include us in your suicide run?"

"I _should_ bring you both." Riddle said, considering the second question. "Perhaps not tomorrow, then. After all, we are on no strict time limit. I know when the sand in the hourglass runs out. I have my eyes watching and ears listening. The Muggles haven't yet cleared a space for the sun to produce electricity."

Riddle had tossed his tie over the couch, the owner of said tie sitting beside Malfoy, who was sitting with his head tilted back and eyes closed.

"How does all the electricity and magic work, anyways? What is a nuclear power plant? Or at least, what is Omega like?" Harry asked from the doorway that connected the living room to the kitchen.

"A nuclear power plant contains nuclear reactors. Muggles will replace the reactors with your sun, which is essentially a fusion reactor." Riddle explained, as if that was supposed to make sense. "Do you know about fission?" Riddle eyed Harry dubiously as both of the Hogwarts students shook their heads. "How about about the elements and atoms?"

Harry tilted his head quizzically, but Malfoy opened his grey eyes and nodded.

Riddle gave a bit of a long-suffering sigh. "In baby talk, then. Fission is when a heavier, unstable element decays into smaller nucl– _parts._ " He corrected himself. "As it does so, it releases some energy in the form of heat, and Muggles harness that heat to power a turbine that essentially generates electricity. It also releases neutrons, which cause nearby atoms to become unstable in the first place. In a nuclear reactor, this reaction is controlled where a number of control rods soak up excess neutrons to prevent too many fission reactions occurring at a time–" Riddle made an annoyed noise, as if realising his explanation was getting convoluted. "But yes, my initial plan was to raise the control rods. That meant the amount of reactions taking place would've increased exponentially, rather than staying stable. There would've more and more heat generated, and then..." Riddle smirked. "Boom, there goes. All it takes is an _imperio._ "

Harry and Malfoy's eyes both locked onto Riddle as soon as he mentioned the Unforgivable.

"That seems lethal." Malfoy commented, a little awkwardly.

"It is. An uncontrolled fission reaction is what occurs in nuclear bombs: the very same weapons that destroyed an entire city in an instant."

Harry, disconcertingly, noted a flash in Malfoy's eyes when Riddle mentioned that.

"You know, Potter," Malfoy drawled, "I may actually tag along. There's certainly more of a chance that Riddle can ward us up and keep us alive when he lights the world up if we're close by."

Riddle's features were graced with a smirk. "Well then, it's finalised. On a date yet to be settled, we three are going to burn down the world." Harry's gut churned at the thought. "We may also all die. But for now… did you say you wanted to go for a tour?"

–––

After they'd changed into some of Riddle's spare shirts, they left and locked up the house. This time Harry was riding in the front of the vehicle and given reign to mess with all the knobs. However, he ended up spending an unnecessarily large amount of time simply observing the way Riddle drove. The man kept both hands on the wheel, eyes forward, yet he seemed to always know what Harry and Malfoy were doing.

"Keep your arm inside unless you want it removed from your shoulder." He said at one point to the blond who had stuck half his body out the window.

Harry had reached for the large throttle beside him at one point, but a cool hand on his own had stopped him. Riddle's grip had been firm. Steady. "Leave that alone." He had warned, leaving Harry reeling a little from the touch. Riddle had beautiful, elegant fingers. A pianist's hands. Deadly hands that could cast wandless magic. Hands that could pull a trigger with no hesitation. Hands that Harry suspected had been around someone's neck at some point. Hands from a rough life.

They continued their journey in the silence of violin strings. Past huge patches of bare land, where huge yellow creatures were felling trees and tearing into soil, where machinery could be heard shrieking across the land. Past small humble abodes much like Riddle's. Past other buildings with brightly coloured signs with glowing words.

"Where are we going?"

"To a place where, if you let slip your magic, no one will report you–"

Harry's eyes widened. Did that mean Riddle had been in contact with Wizards all along?

"–Because if they squeal to the authorities, they turn themselves in, too."

Oh. Criminals and cutthroats, then.

When the car finally stopped in an empty carpark, they walked and walked until Harry looked up to see a monolith of a building. Three, four, five, six, and more stories high… he had never seen a building of that magnitude. Its grey sides were run with filth and grime, blackened at the walls, shattered glass running across the concrete path that led up to the hollowed husk.

Around it stood more unfinished, burnt buildings. Abandoned. Though now and then Harry caught a flicker of movement. A glint of filthy teeth, a sharp knife catching the dusk light.

But the centrepiece was the building. The – on further inspection – building that was also not quite complete. Steel rods rose up from its pillars, into the sky, promising more stories to come. A promise never fulfilled.

"What happened to it?" Harry asked, stones and and glass crunching beneath his shoes. His neck was craned upwards. Malfoy was peering around cautiously at the other, smaller buildings. Riddle simply stood with his hands in his pockets, at ease.

"It fell victim." His gun holster hung unconcealed at his side.

"To what?" Malfoy had turned, now, to watch the two, his eyes glittering.

"To _me_." Riddle said softly, dangerously. He strode up to the building, up to the doorway missing doors, and stepped right in, gun in hand. "This was an orphanage before it was a high-rise.

"I was incredibly disappointed that some mindless _bulldozers_ stole my revenge from me." Harry followed Riddle into the shadows. In the building, the world seemed different. Dust danced, backlit by the evening rays. A flight of stairs led up, up, and Riddle stood watching like a ghost.

 _Clunk!_ A metal cylinder hit the stairs, tumbling its way down, inordinately loud in the silence. It clanged as it rolled to a stop at Harry's feet. It was a faded red, and on it Harry could see some looping silver words. _–Cola_.

For a brief moment, they stood frozen.

Then Riddle stepped onto the first stair, and very deliberately, loudly, flicked the safety, pointing the gun upwards.

The building held its breath in expectant silence.

Riddle shot. A warning shot. A sound that echoed through the stairs and the not-quite-empty rooms, through the hallways never finished and past the windows shattered.

"But that was fine." Riddle quietly resumed his tale, starting up the stairs without even sparing a glance at the two wizards following him. "The orphanage wasn't the only building that I loathed. The land itself. The _filth_ that it bred. Every, single, _face_ that I recognised. The paved streets. The priest in the church. The lady down the road. The memories and the scars…"

Riddle turned at the top of the stairs, looking down at them. Both Harry and Malfoy stood transfixed as they stared up at the prim, proper man in a suit. The man should've been sitting behind a desk with unbloodied hands. Should've been taking phone calls, smiling at the crowds, laughing with co-workers, should've been at ease anywhere but here. Not here, not so _one_ with the wasteland, gun at his hip, steady step never faltering.

The wasteland he had created.

Riddle's face, his smirk, was outlined by the dying light of dusk. "I let them burn."

* * *

a/n in my curriculum a tiny bit of nuclear physics was compulsory before we were even 16. not all curriculums are the same, but if you don't know how fission works then i'm going to have to highly suspect you aren't 16+

or at least you're not a STEM person like me and you've forgotten everything

(honestly? it doesn't matter. never mind i said anything)

has anyone else noticed that so many people spell peeked as peaked haha what why


	3. Chapter 3

a/n this wasn't even meant to be a slow burning thing why do i do this. i just didn't want them looking into each others eyes and saying "wowe" when they're so fundamentally different

at this point the fic is literally: harry tries to change tom's mind so they don't have to fight at the big showdown

* * *

Eyes peered from the shadows of the abandoned building. Here and there, a gaunt face appeared surrounded by long matted hair. Harry couldn't help but watch them. He saw a child, even – nothing but bones and skin and deep-set eyes. The little boy scampered away as soon as he had caught Harry's glance. Riddle paused, and with only the briefest hesitation, returned their wands.

Malfoy turned around at the first flight and said he was going to wait outside, his footsteps echoing as he retreated. Riddle merely shrugged, walking on without a falter, palming his gun.

"Do you come here often?" Harry asked the man walking in front of him, feeling uneasy. He was a wizard brought up in the warmth of a safe home. He was a wizard brought up in the welcoming halls of Hogwarts, where they never saw such… _misery._ There were cloths and rags scattered in the shadows – beds. Harry simply couldn't imagine living like this. Were all Muggles raised in these conditions? Surely not. Riddle had a home all to his own.

"Whenever I need a reminder." Riddle answered. "Of what I can do. What people can do."

The little boy was there again, at the top of the stairs. There must've been another path that he'd taken to get there. He had a little bony hand outstretched, the other bent behind his back. His fingers were coated in dirt, his entire body bowed, begging. But mostly his _eyes_. His hungry, brown, eyes that shone with pleading.

Riddle gave the child a wide berth, but Harry stopped to stare. "Riddle…?" Harry didn't have anything, but maybe Riddle kept some Muggle currency on him.

"No."

"What do you mean, _'no'?_ " Harry asked, a fire lighting in his own green eyes. Riddle paused in his steps.

And then his barrel was pointed straight at the starving boy.

"What do you think you're–!" Harry began in indignance, but Riddle's words stopped him.

"Turn." Riddle said coldly. Brown eyes stared imploringly back at him. " _Turn._ And keep your hands where they are." Harry was suddenly reminded of when he first ordered them in the Muggle compound.

The boy turned, slowly, and the hand he had hidden behind his back was firmly grasping a knife.

Harry could only stare. Riddle snorted, grabbing Harry's arm and tugging him after him. "You're horribly ignorant." Riddle sneered. Bewildered green met grey, and Riddle's tone softened just slightly. "There's little room here for hope." And then Harry was pulled up the stairs, away from the hunched boy with his dirt and blood-smeared hands, away from those pleading brown eyes.

The rest of the journey up was taken in a blur. Harry just couldn't stop thinking about despair, about doing what you had to, about striking out of fear. How people thought trust and friendship was too fickle. They were _luxuries._

His thoughts were wiped away as they rounded the top of the stairs to face the awing vista of dusk, Riddle releasing his arm. A red glow cast across the world, across a sky that reached… forever. All the way across seas, across hills and mountains and lakes and train tracks and little toys of buildings, all across the planet with no end. Harry had once thought life inside the wards was all he'd ever need, but this was what freedom must've looked like.

And his people would never have it.

 _(Despair.)_

Not unless there was peace, or unless Riddle killed all Muggles. The man had crossed the room to the unfinished wall, taking a seat right at the edge, with Harry trailing right after. There was no roof above their heads, just a _real_ sky. From here Harry could also see the entirety of the small, burnt town. A blonde head sitting against an abandoned building caught his eye. Harry waved. Malfoy returned what looked suspiciously like a vulgar gesture.

The man beside him had one leg dangling off the edge of the building, the other tucked up right by his chest, where he had hooked an arm. The light outlined his sculpted face, his delicate eyebrows, those lips set into the slightest frown… His eyelashes were cast golden. The beautiful man Riddle suddenly looked younger than Harry remembered. Perhaps only a year or two older than himself, but he looked so mature from that way he carried himself: with that perpetual frown and mirthless eyes that had seen too much.

That contrast was ground-shattering. Harry, so happy in the halls of Hogwarts, spending his time of petty rivalries, while this Tom Riddle callously pulled the trigger of his gun.

How many times had Riddle sat there in the past? Alone? Harry had the sudden urge to learn about Riddle. To connect, and ease those years of pain from him. To tell him he wouldn't need to die and it'd all be fine. To have Riddle _trust_ him.

These strange thoughts were coming from nowhere. Harry attributed them to his apparent 'extremely empathetic' thing.

"Why?" Harry asked, and grey eyes flickered up to him. "Why would you give up your life for a people that you've hardly ever met?"

Riddle's gaze was intense in that it never faltered. He seemed to see right through Harry. "You think too well of me." He said quietly. Harry was surprised, really, that Riddle could be… docile. "It's not for all of you. It's for me.

"Do you see that building there?" They turned to where an elegant hand pointed to a black husk somewhere on the rubble-strewn street. "A lady used to live in there: between cream coloured walls and a mottled green roof. Her name was Martha."

Riddle stopped there and seemed to muse. Seeing memories and ghosts, no doubt. Harry could sense it all flickering in those troubled eyes. His question hadn't been answered, but he knew somehow that Riddle would tell him. In due course.

"You're dying soon." Harry reminded him. Riddle glanced up at him and, surprisingly, parted his lips in a small laugh. It was such a change from when he'd first held them at gunpoint. Riddle was really only… nineteen? Eighteen? Twenty? But when he laughed, it was as though the burden of years disappeared for just an instant.

"Fair enough." Riddle conceded. "So you want to hear all my stories, then?" He regarded Harry carefully, as if attempting to gauge what sort of person would want to get to know _him,_ Tom Riddle.

"If you're not getting that wife and children of yours…" Harry said. "Who else is going to hear them?"

"I have a journal." Riddle replied simply.

"And that'll stand through an inferno?"

"If you keep it on you." If he could even ward them up, that was.

"Then I'd read it anyway–"

"It only opens to those with blood relation to me."

Harry's mouth clicked shut. Okay, that worked too. "So what then, uh, are you planning on having a kid?"

Tom raised an eyebrow at that, "I suppose we could head to the city tonight and pick up a lady or two–"

Harry quietly choked.

"–It depends on how I'm feeling by then. I'm working with fumes and whims here. But I do need to get passports and a few things for you two." Riddle tipped his head back, exposing that long, pale neck as he looked towards the sky. "It's growing dark, and your friend must be getting cold."

"He's not my friend." Harry grumbled. Riddle huffed in disbelief.

"I think that'll change." He said, standing. "You seem the friendly type. But come, now. We've seen the sights – the beautiful sight of the town I burnt down."

"Hey, Riddle–"

"Call me Tom, ..." Riddle trailed off, waiting for a name. Harry suppressed an inward grin. Yes! Progress.

"Harry." He supplied. "Tom, do you think you could give that child a coin or two?"

Riddle gave him a rather sharp look. "It's pointless. What would a few dollars buy him?"

"Hope." Harry said. He looked up to meet Tom's burning grey gaze. "And I think we need more of that in the world right now."

"And what of all the other dying souls in this building? Doesn't it carve a notch into your heroic heart knowing that this treatment is so _unfair_?" He said with a slight sneer.

"Tom," Harry said firmly, the name feeling foreign on his tongue. "You start small. What does your money even matter, anymore? You can give him some happiness."

Tom, with an expression of disgust on his face, did end up floating a down note to the small boy. Then he'd pointed the gun right between those shining brown eyes. "Don't pull that knife on anybody ever again."

And then they left, for the city, and Harry had smiled. He was on a time limit to change Tom's judgement, and he _would_ make it. One step at a time.

–––

The city was outrageously bright. And loud. Colours swirled around them as they inched down the streets, bodies catching the lights, bottles glinting as they were held high.

"Muggles have bottles too?" Was the only thing Harry could think to ask, and Tom had snorted, a slight smirk crossing lips. Malfoy just groaned.

"Potter, these people are getting _drunk._ Why are you only concerned about their bottles? I swear, your brain must be bloody stunted."

"We're in the more promiscuous districts." Tom said, unhelpfully. "There's a hotel down the road that I'm very well-affiliated with."

"How?" Harry asked. He swore he was getting accustomed to ignoring Malfoy. It was a useful skill. "I thought you were like... nineteen."

Tom, curiously enough, didn't confirm what his actual age was. "I used to glamour myself to look slightly older. That's how I've conducted most of my business so far."

They turned into an underground cavern: a carpark, and Tom then led them out on foot to a smaller door.

The first thing Harry did was laugh in Malfoy's face, because the corridor they'd stepped into was so lavish that Malfoy's Manor didn't even pose competition. Tom looked back, caught by the sound of Harry's laughter, before they entered the main foyer.

Tom conversed with the receptionist for a while and then gestured for the other two wizards to follow him into a strange metal box. The metal box moved, and when it opened again, they were looking at an entirely different corridor. Harry thought it all seemed rather magical. "This is our room." Tom said, opening one of the doors with a bit of plastic that beeped. "Now, if none of you want to accompany me down to the club, you may stay here."

Malfoy opted to stay, prowling the room and seriously scrutinising every piece of furniture. Tom and Harry returned to the metal box and then Tom led him out of the building. They stopped just before the glass front doors, Tom saying, "Remember this place in case you get lost." And then he pushed open the doors and they were swamped with sound and heat.

Harry followed so closely behind Tom he could've been stepping on the back of his shoes. People brushed past like a sea. He kept his head down, one foot after another. Colours. Sound. Sparkling and shiny shoes. His attention to the ground, however, didn't stop someone grabbing his arm and stopping him in his step.

"Hey, pretty." A woman purred, her obscenely long eyelashes fluttering. Her top was positively scandalous. Harry backed away with a look of shock, but she had a grip of iron. "Looking for some fun?"

He glanced around hurriedly, watching Tom's back disappear into the throng. Oh Merlin, what was Harry supposed to say? He had to go after Tom.

"We can give you a good night." She said with a wink, dragging him after her through the crowd. Harry couldn't see a hint of Tom anywhere, now. Oh no, oh Gods.

"Wait, wait wait wait, no, this is a misunderstanding, my friend's still there in the crowd, I can't just–"

"I'm sure your friend won't mind." The woman said into his ear, pressing herself up against Harry. They'd slipped from the crowd now, in front of a building with a huge neon sign with a lady on it.

Harry really, really, didn't want to go through the door to that very shady building.

Her hand was suddenly on his arse, and he squeaked as he jumped. He had to get out of here. No, this was not his idea of a good time. Malfoy had been right to stay inside. His first instinct was to dive for his wand, but these were Muggles.

"I'm gay!" He blurted at the woman, hoping it'd make her back off. It wasn't even true. He'd dated a couple of girls back at Hogwarts, but he'd never really… had objections to liking boys, anyway.

She simply batted her sparkly lashes at him and said, "That's perfectly fine, dear. We have a number of nice men who also–"

"I don't have any money!" He exclaimed instead, and _then_ he saw the light and the seductive air around her falter.

"Oh, is that so?" She pouted, and that was Harry's opening.

"Yes, it is, I'm dirt poor, not a single penny that you'd ever use, it's such a pity– _Bye._ " He blabbered, backing away again towards the crowd. He turned to bail, and ran straight into a solid chest.

The chest was unclothed. Harry looked up to see a man towering above him. "Did I just hear something interesting?" The man asked, staring Harry in the eye, a hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

Harry was so done. What even was this.

"If you don't have any money and you're perfectly fine to suck cock, why not come work for me?" The man asked with a leer. Harry tore himself from the man's grasp, trying to find a way around so he could at least lose himself in the crowd. Safety in numbers. "Listen now, don't think I'm letting a pretty get away as easily as that." The man sneered, moving to block Harry's way.

"I'm not interested. At all. Please, can you just–" Unwanted large hands landed on Harry's hips, and he was– _no way in_ _ **hell.**_ He was bloody out of here.

Harry did what got him in detention in the first place. With all his seeker quickness, he swung a fist and connected it straight into the larger man's face with a _crack!_ The man's expression contorted from shock into anger, but by then Harry had fled. He pushed his way into the river of people, hoping to lose the large man in case he had been chased.

"That was certainly quite a show." A familiar voice said right by his shoulder. Harry jumped, crashed into somebody else ("Sorry!") and then scowled, his green eyes blazing as he met Tom's amused gaze.

"Is this your idea of fun? If it is, I have serious objections to it. Did you really leave me alone to those _people?_ " Someone pushed past, bumping into Harry's side and causing him to stagger. Why didn't these things happen to Tom?! Why was Tom so bloody in of control things?

"No." Tom said shortly, stepping closer to wrap an arm around Harry's shoulder. "It seems I need to keep you on a shorter leash." His grey eyes surveyed Harry's features, "You're too pretty."

"That's a bad thing now?" Harry snapped back.

"It is, when coupled with _incompetence._ " Harry was about to retort angrily, but he caught sight of Tom's smirk and settled with a huff.

"Merlin's knickers, nothing like that's ever happened to me before. You can't blame me for not knowing."

"I've never wasted my time here, either. But specific experience doesn't matter." Tom said, guiding them through the mass of people. Tom's arm was cool and reassuring around Harry. He couldn't help but feel safer like this. "I already know how to play people."

They entered another door into a place that was far more quieter and subdued. There was a sleek bar where plenty of men and women were seated, drinking and laughing, looking generally intoxicated, and another part of the room that was occupied with a stage and several booths.

"I'm not actually here for entertainment." Tom said into his ear, his breath brushing over Harry's skin. "I think you may have realised that by now. I have a bit of business to be on–"

"You're not leaving me alone in there." Harry said firmly. "Terrible things will happen."

Tom inclined his head. "Very well." His arm slipped from his shoulder to his waist, tugging Harry close. "If I'm taking you with me, you'll have to play the part. It'll be far too suspicious otherwise."

Harry felt only slightly uncomfortable as he walked with Tom across the room to a smaller, more inconspicuous door that blended in with the red walls of the place. But he noticed heads turning and eyes lingering after Tom, who moved with a grace every human was envious of. Tom was undoing Harry's buttons: the ones on his sleeves, rolling them up, and then he reached for Harry's collar. Harry spluttered, smacking at the other man's hands, and undid a few himself. He felt a flush climb across his cheeks.

Tom pulled open the door into a dimly lit corridor. It was still decorated with deep red, coated with swirls of gold, and they headed for one of the doors down the far end. _Occupied,_ it read on a red plaque. Tom seemed to ignore it. He knocked, entering the room.

If Harry was blushing before, his cheeks were flaming now. Merlin, did Tom always just barge in on people like this? The room was intimately small, and in it sat a man in a chair. A woman was on his lap wearing practically nothing as she rolled her hips and curled around him.

"Ah, Tom!" The grey-haired man said, peering around the woman. He dismissed her with a hand, and she drifted away to another chair. "No no no, Amelia, out." He clarified, and the woman looked slightly displeased as she passed Tom and Harry and exited the room. "What are you looking for today then, boyo?"

Harry glanced back into the corridor, but she was gone.

"Tristan. I need a few things." Tom seated himself in the only other chair, gesturing for Harry to go… sit in his lap?

Oh, he was going to murder Tom after this. He settled on the armrest. Tom shot him a dirty look, and tugged him from his perch onto his lap, where Harry fought the urge to squirm and instead entertained himself with fantasies of fleeing and never looking Tom in the eye ever again.

"Going for the shy, fiery types now huh, Tom? Thought those weren't your usual thing." Tom had a 'usual' taste? Harry felt something flare inside him. He thought Tom said he'd never been to places like these. "You sure you want those lil' ears of his listening?"

Tom shrugged, looking utterly nonchalant as he leaned against the armrest. "He can keep his pretty mouth shut... aside from when it's against mine."

Harry was pretty sure his face was going to catch in fire any second. He was tucked snugly against Tom, his arse practically in the older man's crotch.

"I need two blank IDs. I'll get the photos done, but I don't give a shit about what name you choose. Two passports, everything for a flight for two, as soon as possible."

Tristan gave them a shrewd look. "You're not going to tell me what this is for." Harry was suddenly very, very, aware that he _really needed to play the part._ People were smarter than they looked. Oh Merlin, how obvious was it that the 'passport' and things were for him? Harry gave in and squirmed, partly in nervousness, partly in embarrassment.

Tom raised an eyebrow, as if he was considering. Which was all just one huge bullshit play. "Two refugees want out. Things in the South are going tits up." Harry leant back into the chair, slipping off Tom's legs and into the seat beside Tom. Their legs were pressed right against each other, Harry's hooked over. His head rested in Tom's shoulder. As if practised, Tom's arm came up to wrap itself around Harry, playing with his hair.

Gods, he hadn't even known how much he needed this pseudo-embrace until now. He relaxed in Tom's one-armed hold, feeling warmth all around him and smelling the comforting scent of Tom: it was crisp and clean, a little light. Like freshly laundered blankets with a hint of the sweetness of flowers.

That was a bit of a strange comparison to make.

How Tom could maintain that calming smell after swimming through people, Harry had no idea.

"That all you gonna tell me?"

"Yes." Tom said, still looking utterly at ease, although Harry could feel a hint of his tenseness from where he was…nestled in Tom's side. All an act, Harry. All an act.

"Hm," the older, grey-haired man said, his eyes sharp. "A'ight. What'll the pay be like? Where'll you pick them up?"

Harry closed his eyes as they haggled. What a day. It'd only been a day, bloody hell, and Harry was already tired. Tired from all the new sights and sensations, the lifestyle where everything seemed to be stationary and nothing flew about, where little children starved in the darkness and prostitutes grabbed at Harry...

He was tired from trying to puzzle out the enigma Tom. Tom, who seemed so cold, yet would still willingly give up his life. He hadn't even told Harry why. Harry opened his eyes then, watching the man beside him through his lashes, whose one free arm was gesturing animatedly as he talked. Harry's eyes traced the contours of Tom's face. Tom was an eye-catching beauty, he was. He had an inner selflessness – Harry could see it – one that was battered down and hidden deep because of all the hardships he had endured. But it was there anyway. Harry thought Tom was rather amazing for it, and then inwardly flushed at the thought.

Tom suddenly paused as though surprised, looking down at Harry. Harry blinked back in confusion. What? A small smile spread across Tom's lips, and then he turned his attention back to the task at hand. That had been odd, Harry concluded, and when he glanced across at Tristan, he was also watching Harry flintily.

Strange. Harry settled back, closing his eyes.

A little while later Harry reentered their world to what seemed to be a different conversation altogether. "...Your lil' lad doesn't even seem to be properly clad! What even is this, Tommy boy?"

"You know I don't do the easy." Tom replied, although his eyes were frosty. His arm tightened protectively over Harry.

"Well, if you ever get tired of you new boytoy, you can always hand him over to me." The man said with a smirk. "I've got plenty of clients who might like him. Or, you know, I could see what he's _really–_ "

Harry _felt_ more than _saw_ Tom bristle. In the next moment, Tom was on his feet, clutching Harry to his side as he jabbed a hand towards the other man.

" _Obliviate._ "

"What–" Harry started, Tom crossing over to the blank-eyed person he'd obliviated.

"He suspected you weren't who you seemed." Tom's hands searched the man's pockets, pulling out a small rectangular device. "And I wasn't going to bother entertaining him with empty platitudes any longer.

"How'd you know he knew?" Harry subconsciously leaned towards Tom, missing his touch.

"Legilimency." He returned, uncaringly.

"That's ten levels of illegal."

"Tch." Tom didn't even look up, still fiddling with the device in his hands. "You know I don't work within the bounds of your government. I was reading his mind the whole time. Look, this man's a master of crime. Not much is going to get past him. You see this? He was recording the whole chat. I'm cutting the last bit."

The rectangular device was returned, Tom gave the obliviated man a few instructions, and then the two left the small room. Harry couldn't even bring himself to scold Tom for making Harry sit in his lap, because essentially Harry hadn't played up the prostitute boy act enough and so Tom had to clear the suspicions.

They re-entered the main room, where Tom took a seat at the bar and Harry slipped in alongside him. "Are you someone for alcohol? Muggles have alcohol, right? I didn't see any bottles back in your house."

"I'm not. Not tonight." Tom replied. They looked over at some of the booths where men and women alike were draped over each other, kissing at all the skin they could reach, hands roaming under the tables. "Of course I still drink at parties, but half the time I Vanish the lot. I don't work too well without my inhibitions."

"Okay, but what, seriously, are we doing here then?" Harry asked. There didn't appear to be much point in remaining in a place like this. Neither he nor Tom seemed to be the type to indulge in these… sensualities.

"I need time to think." Tom said with a frown, drumming his fingers against the bartop. The serving man gave him a questioning glance, but Tom waved him away. "I've already acted callously enough today."

Harry gave a bit of a joking laugh. "I didn't know you took time to think. Plans just seem to pop into your mind from nowhere. I mean, you didn't know Draco and I were going to come busting through the fence, but you had us away pretty quickly."

Tom glanced around them for a second, and Harry saw his hands make a few movements. He was casting subtle silencing and privacy charms. Tom: forever on his toes. "As a matter of fact, I _had_ suspected it. Everyone in the office was talking about how they'd managed to create a momentary lapse in the wards. I knew some bumbling wizards were bound to stumble into the compound. In any case, I could sense your magic as soon as you let off that _confringo_. Powerful piece of work, by the way."

"...Thanks? Malfoy probably could've managed it, too, though."

"I doubt it." Tom replied. "Technicalities aside, spells depend on the force of mind, or will. Don't get me wrong – I'm sure your friend can be terribly persistent in some things – but this unwavering determination of yours is something you should be proud of."

Harry didn't know how to feel in the face of all this praise. He might have flushed a little. Uh– he was supposed to say something polite in return. What could he say about Riddle… What could he say…? Hi, I think your face is really pretty? If you weren't a lone wizard and if you weren't so harsh and focused on survival, I bet lots of girls back at Hogwarts would fall over their feet for you? I think you're secretly incredibly selfless, and I'm planning on thwarting your plans?

"Um," Harry managed, eloquently.

Tom seemed to have noticed that Harry was two seconds away from slotting his foot into his mouth, and he rapidly changed the subject. "Tell me, what's it like in your world?"

Brightening instantly, because this was something he could go on forever about, Harry began to talk. He spoke about Hogwarts, mainly, and he stayed away from his own family because he knew Tom was an orphan. How Hogwarts was a home to all, because it had _something_ for any and everybody. Whether they were a sly Slytherin, a bull-headed Gryffindor, an eager Ravenclaw, or a happy Hufflepuff; whether they felt at home among cauldrons or broomsticks or plants or books, it was a place that appealed to some part of every witch or wizard that stepped in.

Harry told him about the moving portraits and the life. What the Muggle World was missing. But most of all, he told Tom about the lives of the hundreds and hundreds of wizards within the wards.

"You're wanting to free so many, I get it. It's a wonderful thing to do. It's amazing." Harry said to him. He spoke so earnestly that, for a moment, Tom felt guilt rise in his throat. "But you shouldn't. Not when there are billions and billions more that you're ending."

"You've got it the wrong way around." Tom said somewhat impatiently, pushing away all foolish feelings like _guilt_ that those green eyes stirred. "It's cute that you've decided to shower me with sentimentalities, but the truth is that I couldn't give a damn about you wizards. Whether you're free or not doesn't impact my life at all, and I'm awfully, awfully, selfish. What I care about is wiping the all Muggles off the face of this planet." Grey eyes blazed with conviction. "Freeing the rest of my kind that hasn't been my kind at all – _that,_ is a side bonus."

It really struck home then, that this was such a pointless endeavour. Harry could try reach the sun/moon before Tom, yes, but what he couldn't change was the blackened part of his heart. "I don't believe you."

"If you choose not to." Tom said carelessly. "It doesn't matter what you think of me," he lied, "what matters is that I've chosen to give my life to end this reign of Muggles.

"You know, I've changed my mind." Tom continued, turning on his chair and gesturing to the barman. "We have to get drunk immediately."

"Tom–"

The rambling continued. "Lowered inhibitions? I think that, with a death on the horizon, my inhibitions are already substantially lowered. Here, drink." He shoved a glass into Harry's hands.

"Hey–"

"Muggle alcohol. It's not bad. Not that I can say much, considering I've never _had_ Wizarding drinks–" Someone began approaching their chairs, and Tom immediately broke off. Both of them cast wary eyes on the sandy-haired man who swayed up to Tom's chair and placed a hand on the bar. The man was dressed sensibly, there was no obscene amount of skin showing, but still.

Harry knew where this was going, and he didn't like it.

"Beauty," the man's hazel eyes flickered up to meet grey as he spoke. "I couldn't help but notice you seemed to be getting a little irritated in your unwanted–" (Harry quietly fumed. The nerve!) "–company. I thought maybe I could–"

"I'm terribly sorry." Tom cut in, his eyes steely. "I think my man here is enough company. Thank you for your offer, but I'm going to have to decline."

To Harry's surprise, the man simply peacefully inclined his head and left.

"I thought he was going to put up a fight."

"I subtly compelled him." Tom said, nonchalantly. "I do that quite often with Muggles."

Harry raised a dubious eyebrow. Well, if Tom needed to. "I'm also surprised by how… unsurprised _you_ were. Do you seriously get men coming up to you all the time? Is that more acceptable in the Muggle world?" The answer to the first question was probably yes. Harry could see them now, the occasional once-overs and leers that both men and women were giving Tom.

"Is it acceptable among wizards?"

"Well I–" Harry cut himself off, flushing furiously. Some deep, inwardly Slytherin part of him almost believed he'd done that on purpose. Let Tom know he was perfectly fine with being gay. He saw Tom's eyes flash, noting Harry's reaction. "Yeah. Kind of."

Tom sat back, idly refilling his glass. "In this Muggle line of work, the field is dominated by men. Of course I've seduced a number of them."

Harry just sort of blinked at him. Tom smirked back. "You're… nineteen?"

"Glamours." Tom reminded him, taking a drink. Harry did the same.

"Your world's so different from mine. Your life is bloody insane."

"I've noticed," Tom said drily. "Mr Hopeful who lives in the sunshine, are you sure you want to go to the Omega power plant? You might begin crying at the sight."

"What do you mean? Of course I'm sure I want to go. I'm not going to let you do this on your own. Well, with Malfoy," Harry added hastily, "but he's pretty much no one anyway."

Tom always seemed to be amused by Harry and Malfoy's bickering. "Nuclear factories aren't the only things up there. They've got nuclear warheads. Detonated against the wards before, even, but magic only falters to electrical energy. It didn't do a thing." Tom relaxed, running a hand along the bartop. "Muggles have slaughter each other by the hordes. The Omega power plant epitomizes that. Muggles have bombed an entire cities and killed hundreds of civilians where children, too, suffered years after from the lingering effects. All of this killing wasn't even my doing."

"You wouldn't do that."

"Wouldn't I? I did say that all it'd take was an _imperio._ " Tom asked, eyes glittering. But then he sighed, the predator dropping from his features. "You may look at Muggles and Wizards and think magic is the only thing that differs them, but the differences run far deeper than that. I have journals, left by my predecessors, and their spines are bent by all I've poured over them. They've written about Wizards. Wizards, and how they choose to live. What do Wizards value, Harry?"

That was a difficult question. "Gold? Power? A family?"

Tom's lips twitched into a bit of a wry smile. "Ancestry. Preserving the old. Claiming that you're Slytherin's descendant could get you anywhere. But do you know what Muggles want? Muggles are fundamentally different – they're always chasing the new, afraid of falling behind. The bigger. The better. Regardless of the sacrifices they have to make."

"I don't see where you're going with this." Harry admitted. "So what?"

Tom locked eyes with him over the glass he was tipping back. He set it down with a resolute _thunk_. "Ah, then I suppose I'll leave you to piece it together – why Muggles and Wizards will never be compatible. You should look in the history books sometime."

"Sure." Harry said, although he didn't know where he'd possibly get a history book out here in a place that was a far cry from a library. "Hey, Tom, it's getting late. Do you want to head back – Gods, did you really drink that much?"

Tom gave him a smirk, reaching for his wallet. They were out of the place in no time, and back on the crowded streets. The volume hadn't diminished one bit, but what took Harry off-guard was that Tom had grabbed his hand to lead him through the people. Tom's fingers were cool against his own – Harry was suddenly terrifyingly aware that his own hand was clammy and warm – and they threaded with Harry's and settled there as though there was nothing odd at all.

They entered the glass doors of the hotel, still hand in hand. Harry pulled the interlocked fingers in front of Tom and asked: "What's this supposed to be?"

Tom simply hummed as they stood before the metal box, waiting for it to open. "Has anybody ever told you that your eyes are the most brilliant green?"

"Gods, I swear you're incapable of answering questions. Tom, you're drunk."

"I," Tom said solemnly as they stepped into the metal box, pulling Harry after hi, "have a legendary alcohol tolerance. I do not get _drunk._ "

"You just told me a while ago that you didn't drink because it lowered your inhibitions."

Tom waved his free hand dismissively. "Don't be silly. Never trust my words." The doors _dinged!_ and opened to reveal the lavish corridor. Tom turned to face Harry, walking backwards, a small smirk fixed on his face. "Did I ever tell you I thought you were a fool at the start? Not one like your friend Malfoy, who carelessly tried to knock me out, but a _naive_ fool. I saw you with your blasted pretty face and thought: that one has a poor judgement. All innocence and not a hint of deceit–"

–Oh Tom, what you didn't know–

"But your bold justice is something great. _Keep it,_ close to heart. It's something I paradoxically hate and love. Hate, because I cannot afford it. And love, because," Tom shrugged, "who can stay away from a hero?"

"I'm really not that great, Tom. You're the one who shines. Half the people at the bar had their eyes on you. You _command_ people, have them just wrapped around your fingers." –Tom's thumb traced a circle across Harry's skin in that moment, as if to laugh– "You're right when you say you know how to play people. You catch their eyes like I never can." Harry looked at Tom, whose cheeks were slightly flushed. "But on the other hand, those drinks are really going to your head."

"Ah," he heard Tom mutter. "My mouth is loose. But what does it matter anyway?" Harry felt incredibly guilty then, because he _was_ still planning on keeping Tom alive.

He knocked on the door to their room. There was an expectant pause.

"I know you have a keycard with you," Malfoy said from inside, his voice sounding muffled. "So stop being lazy demanding arses."

Tom sighed, reaching into his pocket and then withdrawing the plastic rectangle. They walked in to see a Malfoy swathed snugly in blankets up to his shoulders, his blonde hair and pointy face reflecting lights from moving pictures on the wall.

Harry let go of Tom's hand in surprise. " _Muggles have moving pictures too?_ " He asked in complete awe. He heard Tom gently thump his head against the wall, but Harry's eyes had fixed on the pictures of what appeared to be cherries in white cream swirls. "Oh Gods, they make sounds as well?"

"There are thousands of lights inside the screen." Tom explained, sounding slightly pained. Malfoy just watched, enraptured by the pictures where a man was gesturing at the cherries. "The images don't actually move." Then Tom shook his head, mumbling something under his breath about 'a blissfully ignorant idiot' as he headed for the bathroom.

A blissfully ignorant idiot, Tom thought somewhat fondly, who shone like the moon. Because said incompetent, useless, righteous, perfect bloody idiot would be there to cast light upon the dark.

–––

Now, Amelia didn't tend to take these sorts of jobs. These jobs in the stuffy red rooms, shirts off, sitting in sweating, stinking, laps.

But this was something different. This was a personal favour.

She held the phone right up by her mouth, palming the recorder in her hand. The hidden room was dark, light streaming in from a single pinhole by her head – light from the back, red room where people took private shows. "You know Tristan, five years ago when you really got into the swing of crime, your brother asked me to keep an eye out for you. Without you knowing, of course."

There was a pause. "Amelia." The phone replied.

"You always take this room. I installed a little cubby here years back, and I've been keeping a camera out. Every. Single. Time." A smirk curled on her glossy red lips. "You really just thought I was your little plaything.

"But that's not what I called for. Something really interesting's happened in your room this time. You might not remember, but magical stuff, eh?

There was a longer pause as she waited for the implications to sink in.

"I'm gonna give you this recording, and you're gonna give Tommy boy a wake-up call."

* * *

a/n: before you start thinking the cherries were a metaphor for something, malfoy was actually watching a cooking show for reasons unknown

can anyone guess why tom had that little hiccup where he looks surprised and smiles at harry?

this story is sickeningly sweet gurk and it's like becoming a muggle and wizarding study. action kicks in soon, promise.


	4. Chapter 4

a/n: I've dropped the rating from M to T because I've realised at this point I'm not going to be able to slot in an M scene. sorry if that's disappointed any of you, folks. this is only a relatively short one, and honestly harry and tom deserve a slow burn – really just isn't enough time. it's already pushed by tom thinking he's going to die. again: i'm sorry. it'd just be wack if they both leapt into bed like this.

* * *

"I've never seen one person sleep so soundly. What did you conk yourself out with this time?"

Harry cracked his eyes open, the sunlight spearing straight through his head. He could fuzzily make a silhouette at the foot of the bed. "Fuck, Malfoy." He croaked. "Close the curtains."

"Potter, who told you to get pissed." Malfoy, to no surprise, just threw himself into some chair and soon Harry was struggling upright, squinting furiously. Blankets pooled around his hips like water. Harry's shirt – which wasn't his – was tossed somewhere on the carpet. But looking around, the enigmatic Tom was nowhere to be seen.

"It was Tom who told me to drink, believe it or not. I think I might've stumbled on a few topics he didn't like." Harry rubbed at his eyes, feeling a headache building. "Ugh, I don't think I can drink without feeling like shit. I must be the lightest bloody lightweight out there."

A while later, Harry had been in and out of the bathroom and was now sprawled across the blanket of the bed he'd slept in. He surprised to find that Malfoy had, in fact, redrawn the curtains. "Thanks for being considerate a bit too late." Harry said dryly. "Also, where's Tom?"

"Tom now, is he? You two went drinking for one night and now you're best friends. Wonder what in the bloody hell _I_ missed." The blond mocked.

"I asked a question, Malfoy." Harry groaned tiredly, his face pressed against the blankets. His entire demeanour radiated an attitude that was too tired for petty arguments.

"He been out for a few hours." Malfoy replied. "Heard people outside in the corridor at 4AM, apparently, and he's gone to investigate. We're not allowed outside."

"Not like I _want_ to be outside." Harry rolled over onto his back, staring up at the white ceiling. "Yesterday had enough Muggles for me, thanks." He sighed, running his hands through his hair. "Whatever's stirred up, it's probably my fault."

If Tom had deemed something an issue, _it probably was an issue_. The entire situation was frustrating. That maybe Tom's silencing charms hadn't been strong enough, or someone had just overheard elsewhere… Harry had probably slipped up at some point. He didn't like that Tom had to go clean up all their mistakes and tracks. He didn't like that he was realising it was becoming increasingly futile convincing Tom of hope.

He didn't like being unable to do things.

There was a rap on the door. "Open up!" Tom's now-familiar voice called from the other side. "We're getting out of here."

The door opened. Tom looked a bit of a fright, clearly panting from exhaustion with a knife tucked into his belt, his eyes swimming with wildness. Harry heard Malfoy mutter something like 'oh, joy,' before Tom jerked his head indicating they ought to follow.

The three of them hurried down the corridor into the metal box, Harry glancing up nervously at the little black thing he recognised Tom had once spoken to back in the compound. The man noticed his look. "I have the cameras under control for now, feel free to speak. Things are going to hell very, very, quickly. Change of plans," Tom said rapidly, his dark eyes still intense. "We're taking a private jet up to Omega, and we're going _now._ "

The metal box let them out, and before they exited the glass doors, Tom cast an _obliviate_ at the receptionist, ushering them to the carpark.

"Jets are the huge metal flying machines." Malfoy said. Harry assumed his television watching had obviously paid off. "Where are you going to get one of those from?"

They reached Tom's slick black car and Harry noticed with a shock that there was somebody else in the back seat. There was an unconscious woman, bound with conjured ropes and blindfolded. Tom's jaw clenched, as if he didn't want to answer Malfoy's question. "From her. One of my co-workers." Soon they were in the car, pulling out and racing down the street.

Tom's hands were tightly gripping the wheel. Harry knew that Tom openly showing anger meant something had gone terribly, terribly, wrong… The atmosphere in the car was dominated by the man's shimmering rage.

" _You_ ," Tom finally asked coldly, but with all the fire of a snarl, "if you were fucking hungry and curious, why didn't you say so?" Harry stared uncomprehendingly until he realised Tom wasn't speaking to him. "Or did you have to go around and steal?"

Malfoy looked as though Tom had just whipped around and hit him. All the blood rushed from his face as he paled.

"I walk into the corridor, knife ambushers, clean blood and footage from the corridor, track down Tristan's criminal gang and watch their little higher ups underestimate me – they're easy to kill; no one investigates their deaths – but then one of them, choking in his blood, laughs. My phone rings." The magic swirling in the car seemed to take on a mirror-sharp edge. "I was informed that _someone_ walked around Disillusioned, performed magic to unlock a few doors to gorge himself, and now the entire country's watch has its eyes open."

Harry turned a shocked stare on Malfoy. Malfoy had done what? That couldn't be. He wasn't that idiotic.

"You two are _stupid._ " Tom spat, serving into a fast-moving lane. "Disgustingly naive. Do you think you're here on a holiday? Is this what this is to you? I didn't take you under my wing through _kindness._ " He sneered, and Harry saw fear flash across Malfoy's features. He himself felt a little numb. "If I left you two to stumble around, you'd be worse than dead. They used to burn witches and wizards. Now they'll take you and pick you apart, run you through so many tests that you won't know up from down anymore... And I can't have Muggles learning about magic."

He paused meaningfully, letting his threat sink in with all the delicacy of fangs.

"If you're going to get in my way, perhaps the best option would be to _imperio_ you and stand you out in the streets, point your wand at your throat, and go up in Fiendfyre. Clean. Easy. Nothing left for the Muggles to pick at," like crows at carrion.

Harry looked at Malfoy's white face, his lips moving in silence, and he knew he needed to stand up for the boy. "We're not stupid." He began, his conviction growing as he spoke. "Of course we're not purposely bloody sabotaging you! We have friends and family at home. Friends and family that we miss. That we'd do anything to protect. We'd never do otherwise." Harry knew that for all Draco's brattish attitude, the one thing he valued was his family. He recalled the one time Malfoy had gone to Hermione and apologised because her family were Healers and had treated Malfoy's mother.

"But you _have_ already put them in danger _._ If we go down before we get there, know that this all lies upon your blond-haired friend's shoulders." They were on their way out of the city now. Looking out of the window, Harry caught sight of a black blot – was that a jet? – in the sky, and he squinted against the sunlight. He glanced back towards Malfoy, who was sitting very still. Tom was still talking. "This is your last chance. More stumbles and I'll kill both of you."

Tom had a cold heart. Harry felt his own fire of determination flicker, and his face fell. There was nothing else he could say in this situation without making it worse.

The rest of the car trip was taken in silence: Malfoy stubbornly staring out the window, Harry trying to catch his eye, and the bound woman sitting senselessly between them. Finally they stopped at an absolutely extravagant house by the sea. It was glaring white, white, white, with a large white gate and a larger lawn that led to a house all of flat planes and glass.

"Go outside and press 0131." Tom ordered. Harry nearly stumbled getting out of the car and walking up to the gate. He saw a small rectangle with numbers on it that he assumed it was what he needed to press.

 _Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

The gate suddenly jolted into movement and Harry hurried back to the car. They made their way up the driveway with fake leisure, Harry warily observing the gardens. The place was fit like a manor, with sculpted hedges and never ending fountains. Tom stopped them right before the house. Then he turned to the unconscious woman.

" _Ennervate."_ She stirred. _"Imperio._ Call your pilot. Tell him you've got guests and they're headed to the Omega plant as soon as they can." The woman, looking dazed, did so, and then Tom led them all out into her house, through the white hallways and doors, up flights and flights of stairs into a clear, pristine lounge. Harry thought it seemed a bit clinical. "We stay here for the night." Tom announced. "And then we leave."

Tom immediately swept away into one of the side corridors, fishing out a black rectangle from his pocket. The woman under imperus followed him. Harry was left alone in a room with long creamy couches, with Malfoy, who stared out one of the huge windows. What was with Muggles and windows? Tom's room, the hotel room, this room – they all had such huge dominating expanses of glass. Was that to make them feel free?

Harry jerked away from those thoughts. Things were serious right now. He turned a steely eye on Malfoy instead. "Malfoy."

The boy stiffened at the sound of his name.

"I know Tom's already lectured you, but seriously… what–" Harry shook his head as if it'd help him understand. "What in Merlin's knickers were you thinking? I _know_ you're not stupid." He walked over to where Malfoy had taken a seat and crouched to meet his eyes. "I know you're not stupid and you're not utterly barmy yet, so you better have a bloody good explanation for what you did yesterday night."

Grey eyes flickered up to meet green. Malfoy's eyes were the same colour as Tom's, Harry suddenly realised. Except Tom's were far more darker, like the depths of an ocean, like a chasm…

Malfoy just smirked. "Van't spoil the surprise," he said jokingly, although Harry had a sinking feeling of dread.

"What surprise?"

Malfoy's smirk grew wider, but those eyes were hiding something pained. "There's something changing up there before the week ends. It's nothing that'll concern Riddle, but it might ruin what I've got planned."

"You had no idea what Muggles would do if they caught sight of you." Harry said. He wasn't a Slytherin, but even he knew these things. Revealing magic in public was too much of a wild card to play. "This can't have been some sort of move for some sort of idiotic plan."

"I might not understand Muggles." Malfoy agreed. "But I understand something: Riddle. He's a Slytherin through and through."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "So this was just a ploy in what you're trying to plot against him too?"

The leer he received was brimming with malice. "Maybe not against him," Malfoy just laughed, "Who knows, Harry? Maybe we're both just against _you._ But in all seriousness," he said, laugh turning grim, "between you two and your fight over saving Muggles? I don't think either of you want to win."

–––

They were only three people. How would each of them have their own convoluted plots? This was getting insane. Harry went looking for Tom a little warily, checking outside the window just to see if his car was still there. It was. The man was definitely still somewhere in the house.

Several bathrooms, a kitchen, and two bedrooms later, Harry found Tom standing with his hands on a desk, black device tucked between his shoulder and ear as he looked out yet another window.

"–did you check it against the database?" Harry moved closer, trying to ascertain who and what Tom was talking about. "No matches? That's good. Yes, now I know you aren't our local runaway wizard." Tinny laughter could be heard from the rectangle. Tom glanced back at Harry and seemed to dismiss his presence. "Melissa called me up. She wants me to visit– Oh, please. Don't flatter me. I'm sure they all have jobs to do that don't involve me at all… Is that true now? I don't think I can handle that much stress yet – but anyway, Melissa's lending me her jet." A pause. "Travis, did you forget that a minute ago you told me the fences were on and the highway was monitored? _Yes_ , I'm in the city. If I want to take the usual flight it'll take me an entire day to get through all the traffic. I've had an early morning; I'd really rather not."

Harry was shoulder-to-shoulder with Tom now, his own ear close to the device. He heard a faint voice say, "That's all cool, Tom. We'd all be glad to have you up here, but why so suddenly?"

"Someone told me about what you fished out from inside the wards. I'm assuming that our wayward wizard is going to head there." He smirked lightly. "You know me. I like to be around when things hit the fan."

" _Shit,_ Tom. We had that entire miniature sun thing under wraps. You're really gonna have to tell me where you keep getting your secrets from. Was it Melissa?"

Tom ignored the man. "I'll be there in a few hours in the jet. _Alone_ with her pilot."

When Tom deliberately met Harry's eyes, Harry's heart dropped to his stomach and his throat flooded with ice. The way he had emphasised the word 'alone'... oh, Gods. Tom was telling the truth. For all he had taken them to this house, he going to go alone and leave them behind. This was it. There went all the Muggles and everything Harry wanted to save, because of fucking _Draco Malfoy._ He was barely even aware of Tom putting the black device away.

"Harry. I didn't want to have to leave to die so soon either." Tom said quietly, raising a hand to place on his arm. Harry had half a mind to jerk away from the touch. Fuck Malfoy, honestly – was this all due to the fact that he couldn't keep himself from _eating–?_ Tom's eyes were watching him intently. "You know, little _Gryffindor_ , with your outrageously entire heroic plan, I think you forgot one crucial detail."

'His heroic plan?' Tom _knew–?!_ Harry short-circuited.

The man leaned in close, his hand slipping to the small of Harry's back and tugging him close until they were practically chest to chest. Harry was frozen like a found criminal. Since when had Tom known? Had his entire tirade in the car been a lie, too? He didn't think so. Malfoy was a wild card: he had cut their... holiday short. Tom had been chastising himself as much as he had them, because Tom had treated it as a momentary reprise too. One before he flew off to die.

His eyes were locked with Tom's grey, lost in those depths. How was Harry going to stop Tom–? How could Tom have possibly known–

Harry watched those lips as they moved. "I am a Legilimens." Tom breathed.

How had Harry managed to forget?

He wanted to _scream_.

This could not be happening, Harry could feel anger at his own failure whirling up inside like a hurricane. He had to find another way. He had to. He couldn't just let this happen! Harry would never, ever, lie down and let people die. Not the Muggles. Not Tom.

"Your fucking friend really cut things short." Tom growled, and that was all the warning he gave.

Tom's other hand came up and fisted into Harry's shirt, pulling them into a kiss. Caught completely off guard and still whirling with fury, Harry gnashed and turned the kiss into something primal, his own hands clawing up to tug at Tom's perfect damn hair. Harry pressed himself up against Tom, trying to get so close, trying to convey through his pants and his angry nips: don't go, don't go, please don't go I'll _never forgive you–_ He was swivelled around and pushed against the desk, Tom's hands running up and down his sides, feeling his whole body light up at Tom's every touch.

Finally Tom pulled away with a gasp, his cheeks flushed and hair tousled from Harry's pulls. "You," he said fiercely, fire in his eyes, "are like a gem. I never thought that I'd ever meet somebody like you. So _radiant–_ " he dove in for another kiss when Harry opened his mouth to protest, "– unfaltering. All my life I've been surrounded by the darkness, yet here you are, a soul who never gives up, who always sees the best of those around him. I'd call you stupid. I'd say your head's stuck up there in the clouds, but then I'm caught by those eyes. Your blazing eyes." He leant down to meet Harry's lips again, as if he couldn't get enough. When they finally broke apart, he lingered only a breath away. His voice softened. "Your heart's there in those eyes, and it's trying to pull me away into that crystal clear world of yours."

"Me? You're a _flame._ " Harry replied, tilting his head up to brush his nose against Tom's. "I feel like I'm burning when I get too close." Because Tom was intense in everything he did. His calm mask. His shimmering fury. But most of all, his _hate._

Tom jerked away as soon as Harry thought the words, his face flickering through a myriad of emotions, all unreadable. Harry felt his heart, previously soaring, crash right back down. "I have to go up there." Tom said, determination bleeding from his voice.

" _No,_ " Harry nearly snarled in reply. "You don't have to do it. You don't have to do _anything._ "

"All my life has been dedicated to this."

"Forget it!" Harry pulled Tom close again, kissing until they were both utterly breathless, but nothing he did would make Tom stay. Tom pulled away again, his fists clenched.

"All my _life_ I have had no aim but to stop Muggles _._ I have known nothing but their cruelty, their greed, their spite!" Tom was shaking ever so slightly. "Martha?! I thought she was the only caretaker in that hellhole that cared, but when it all went down, even she turned her back on me. She dug a grave for Dennis, _I pushed her in._ "

Harry's hands came up to take Tom's face in his hold. "Don't do it." He said lowly, as if attempting to placate something wild, fury building in his voice. "They can't all deserve to die–!"

" _Did I get what I deserved?_ "

"You don't have to continue this pain!" Harry caught a flash of white hair by the door. Malfoy had been drawn by all the shouting.

"You're right. I'm not continuing it – I can _end_ it _._ For me. For them." Tom tore himself out of Harry's hold, and Harry knew then that he'd lost. It was all gone. He thought, wildly, of his family and friends back at home, and his heart clenched. If all the Muggles were gone and they were free, if Tom was dead as well–

He felt as though someone were ripping his chest in two.

Tom's hand had been a second away from grabbing Harry's wand, snapping it, and ensuring Harry would not follow him to the ends of the earth. But then he caught the misery and grief in Harry's eyes and he faltered, locked in that stare.

"I'll never forgive you if you kill them all." Harry finally said.

"There won't be a me left to forgive." Tom jerked his head away, taking a deep breath. His lips were still swollen, a flush still visible on his cheeks, but it seemed like he was a mile away from Harry. "I wish I could say sorry."

And then Tom turned away and left.

Malfoy shifted to let him by, out the door, and Harry wanted Malfoy to just– just what? Attack Tom?

The only thing that he knew he wanted was that Tom would stay.

Harry slid from the desk to the floor, eyes staring emptily. Malfoy walked into the room and Harry watched his shoes. How black they were, how clean of dirt and grime, as if he hadn't been a part of this filthy charade and this extinction. The blond took a seat on the desk and looked down at Harry in silence.

He felt shattered.

He didn't know how long he sat there for, but he heard the roar of a engine and knew a jet had landed somewhere for Tom to leave. It was only then that his thoughts coalesced together, stronger than ever. He got to his feet with a newfound determination and made his way to the door.

"Well, I guess if it's a lost cause, we're going our separate ways." He said, not even turning to look at the other wizard. The corridor outside was empty, his footsteps hollow, his hand tucked into his pocket where a cloak like liquid velvet laid.

Legilimency wasn't the only thing he'd forgotten.

Harry wasn't going to give up. He'd follow to the ends of the world.

* * *

a/n: maybe two longer chapters or so left. i promised action and wtf what is this it's not action? sorry. it ran away with me.

tom/voldemort: appears like he's doing it for the greater good but is in reality driven by his personal hatreds. idk i think that's a very tom thing.

you know to be completely honest i had a hard time thinking up of a solution in this. because we know either way it's going to go to hell. tom's not going to drop everything for a harry who's only just popped into his life. harry's not going to ever agree to a mass killing like this. _a_ _nd_ harry would never agree to get in a relationship with tom if tom killed all muggles (not that Tom'd live), while tom would never forgive harry if he stopped him.


	5. Chapter 5

a/n im so sad i never got to get my tom playing piano scene in this fic.

The next thing I'm writing is going to be dedicated to the piano. Just because of this.

* * *

First things first: Harry needed to find a way out of the city to the compound, where he was sure there were flights up to Omega. He had a nagging suspicion that his invisibility cloak could foil even the Muggle's heat detection cameras and so forth. It had fooled animals like Mrs Norris before, proving it could trick the senses, so he'd use it to slip out. And, besides, the stories said it had thwarted death itself.

But there was still the issue of actual transport. The street outside was fairly empty. Harry only saw more beachside properties, the huge things. He could always slip in and steal a car… but he didn't know at all how to drive. And he didn't know how to use the imperius, theory aside. Maybe he could tie the cloak on and use a sticking charm to sit on top of a car? That seemed awfully dangerous.

He saw his solution in the next house over. Over the gate, inside the driveway, there was a car. And there was a door on its back that was open! Some woman was loading boxes into it. He started towards it, already thinking of donning the cloak, dangerously levitating himself over and curling in the car when something snagged his collar and jerked him back.

"Gah!" He saw golden, practically white hair. "Fucking– _Malfoy!_ " Grey eyes stared back down at him. "Get your bloody hands off me!"

"Don't be idiotic."

"Idiotic?" Harry demanded. "Sod off! Since when did you give a damn?"

"I'm trying to save your sorry hide!"

"Yeah, big thanks for walking around in public and forcing Tom to leave sooner rather than later, you fucking prick." Harry tried to escape Malfoy's hold on his collar, but the blond's grip was tight.

"I'm trying to _save_ you!" Malfoy scowled. "We're going to get to the airport, but we're not going to get there by stuffing ourselves into that compartment and suffocating to death."

"Why on earth are _you_ trying to get up there? Tom's already going to kill all the Muggles, isn't he? He's already going to do what you wanted him to." Harry sneered.

Malfoy's pointy jaw tightened. "Perhaps I just have nothing better to do. Perhaps I've just got some sickening plot about getting you into even more trouble. _I'm sure that's the case_." He drawled.

"Cut it with all your Slytherin games." Harry was surprised no one had looked out from their houses yet at the arguing pair on the sidewalk.

"What else could I possibly want from you? Let's not bullshit. You can't stop Riddle. Why would I even bother trying to hurt you more?"

Malfoy released him as soon as Harry got a good grip on his wand. He spun around to point it threateningly at the other wizard. "Malfoy, fuck off." He wasn't going to trust the Slytherin one bit. Look where it got him.

"He knew what you were trying to do anyway. All I did was–"

" _Fuck it all up._ Right?" Harry hissed. "Screw off. I don't have time for this."

Grey eyes flashed, and then Malfoy said something Harry hadn't expected at all. "I'll make an Unbreakable Vow."

"What?" His wand faltered slightly. "Are you insane? Look – Merlin – we don't have a third person."

"We can substitute that with blood." Malfoy said sharply, and then he pulled out his own wand and traced it along the palm of his hand, creating a long, dripping gash. "Are you going to take my hand or not?"

Warily, Harry did. He stared at their joined hands, blood slick between them, unwilling to bring his eyes up to look Malfoy in the face.

"I vow, upon my magic and my life, that none of the actions I take will be intended to harm either Harry James Potter or Tom Marvolo Riddle." The blood sticking to their skin glowed a brilliant gold and then wrapped around their hands like a vice. Harry looked up in shock, and the intensity that he was met with was so blinding that he quickly glanced away again. "Happy now, Potter?" Malfoy asked, withdrawing his hand that was rapidly crusting over with blood.

Harry didn't know what to say.

"Now, are you going to get us under that cloak and stick us to that car?"

–––

Their ride took small, secluded roads and finally stopped at a public beach. Which was quite stupid, really, Malfoy said. Because they had a bloody private beach at their home, why bother go to this one? _Muggles._ Nonetheless, the two of them couldn't complain much, because they were now presented with rows and rows of cars that they were prepared to cling onto like fleas.

Harry's legs felt like jelly after that jittery ride. His fingers were sore from clutching onto the cloak so tightly, and his shoulder hurt from bumping into Malfoy's knobby bones. Even his lungs felt squeezed. But he wasn't complaining yet. They came out of hiding behind a few cars, stood, and stretched their legs in the momentary freedom.

"Shit, Potter, would you look at that." Malfoy had his eyes on a car with no roof. Harry agreed with the sentiment wholeheartedly. If they could sit on actual seats… But of course, they needed a Muggle to drive the thing. "I think I could manage a good enough _imperio._ "

"You can? Then we couldn't we have done that in the first place?" They could've saved so much time. Every minute counted.

"The roof, Potter." Malfoy said impatiently, tapping his finger with his chin. A few passing Muggles gave them strange glances. Harry guessed it was because of their clothing. The Muggles were wearing nothing but brightly coloured shorts. "We wouldn't be able to get in and out inconspicuously." Malfoy glanced at Harry's pocket where the thing was stored. "Normally invisibility cloaks would've torn by now. Where on earth did you get yours from?"

Harry spared him a glance. "Family secret. It'll probably hold up against all the Muggle cameras–"

"Why did you never take it out earlier?" Malfoy cut in. _All_ the way back, when they were arguing about wire fences.

"I may have forgot." Harry said, totally and utterly at fault. "Whatever. Leave it, we don't have time to waste."

Draco gave as sigh as if he were stuck with the biggest imbecile on earth, and that reminded Harry abruptly of their life back at Hogwarts. What a world away...

"I was watching the news before I walked into your shouting match. They're stopping and monitoring all the cars that take the road out, which means the cars will be moving very slowly. But _we_ can climb right out and walk." Malfoy said. "Let's go trap a man and get him to drive us all the way out there. It's called the northern motorway, isn't it?"

"Wait, wait." Harry surreptitiously glanced around and walked up to the red, roofless car. He tapped a spot under the wheel with his wand, where he knew Tom usually inserted keys. " _Alohomora."_

The engine purred to life and in the background, Malfoy cracked a smile in glee.

–––

There had been some poor man opening the cupboard storage thing on the back of his car, and Malfoy had struck him with the Unforgivable.

And now they were crouched under the invisibility cloak, huddled on the floor of the car, listening to the vehicle race down the roads. Harry was slightly irritable, because he could do nothing but wait. Malfoy was no help at all.

"Get your elbow out of my face, it's so knobby, bloody hell–" Harry whispered.

"Shut up, Potter. Your own foot is crushing mine."

"–You eat so many sweets, where the hell do they go? This is actually just sharp bone–"

"Yes, I'm slim, thank you."

"Your elbows could literally be a weapon."

"As you've said for the past hour–" Malfoy's head jerked up to look skywards, smashing into Harry's shoulder on the way. "–argh! We've been stopped for a while now."

Careful to keep themselves covered by the cloak, they straightened and peered out of the car. Harry expected red lights like they'd been running into for the last while, but instead he witnessed one of the greatest plagues of mankind. The sight reminded Harry of when they'd first seen the wards from the outside. It was something that he could never have imagined, never dreamed of, because it was simply too colossal. Four solid lines of colours. Car after car after car, inching forwards in the rare pulse like ants over a hill. It was a sight of devastation.

"This is–" Harry began quietly.

"– _traffic_." Malfoy finished with a hiss. "That's what Muggles call it."

"Yeah, let's go." They awkwardly climbed over the car door, keeping the cloak tight at their sides. And then, shoulders hunched, they began to walk. They walked on the white dotted line. Cars surrounded them on all sides. If Harry turned his head, he could see them: men, women, bored out of their minds with their hands on their wheels. (These were the lives he had to save.) Even after using the cloak for all these years, it was unnerving walking unseen.

The danger was all around, and they just, hurriedly– _walked._ He almost forgot that Malfoy was beside him for a while. Was this what it was like to be Tom? To have his true self invisible like this? Like walking an eternal tightrope?

The cars stretched forever.

Harry didn't dare speak.

The sun climbed higher, yet they cast no shadow as they walked. Harry was probably awkwardly sweating buckets. He really couldn't bring himself to care, he had his mind fixed on his destination, and that was it.

Their red roofless ride was left behind in the swarm, and finally they saw something bright and orange up ahead. There had been a booth set up by the road. Harry felt his heart leap. All they had to do now was go around and climb onto another car.

Oh gods, not another ride _on_ a car. But Harry would do it. He would bloody gear down and do it.

As they approached the front of the line, they saw dogs on chains and collars. Leather chains. The dogs were scampering all around alongside men in blue. The perimeter of the city was absolutely crawling with them. Harry also saw tons and tons of those black boxes – cameras. For what, detecting their heat signatures?

He was suddenly feeling a lot less confident about his invisibility cloak. His hands tightened in its folds, and the details of the booth were visible now. Two of the lanes had been closed off by luminous orange cones; the cars were funneled. There was a man in each box, in blue, and the Muggles in the cars would roll down the windows and stick their heads out, where the man in the box would lean forwards and bring out some strange devices–

They were very close now. He could hear the barking of the dogs and hear cars' engines as they were given 'go's by the men in the booths.

And they just walked.

It was surreal. It made Harry feel like a figment of imagination: like he really just didn't belong here. All this trouble the Muggles were going through, it was ineffective, all for nothing. A dog loped past down the side of the road, not even twitching an ear. Malfoy tensed at his side. Harry kept going, unfazed. Magic really didn't belong in a place like this – this concrete world built to accommodate solidity.

No, he'd gotten it the wrong way around. It was the Wizarding World that was solid, they who put up a barrier and left it to protect them, they who kept castles and the mindless traditions passed down hand by hand. Here, Harry hadn't seen a single thing they'd taught in Hogwarts about Muggles. There were no horses or ladies in large white dresses. There were no parasols or small humble rickety buildings.

They walked right up to the men in the booth and although their hearts were pounding, they weren't spared even a glance. The car by the booth was rolling down its window. Here came the difficult part: they slowly climbed onto the back of the car, getting onto their hands and knees. Then they curled up and just held onto the four corners tightly, casting a sticking charm on their limbs. The charms wouldn't work on the cloak, and they couldn't find a way to tie it onto them without the rope being seen. Harry held two corners in one hand and used the other to keep the cloak down.

He heard something crackle and then realised his knee had slid back an inch. Alarmed, he attempted to recast the sticking charm. But as he reached for his magic, it was as though he ran into a solid wall. The car engine roared life again. Harry pushed against that wall, panic growing, and felt the car begin to shift under his knees. If they fell, in front of all these people and all this electricity, oh Gods, Gods.

Malfoy seized his own wand and they desperately hissed the spell in synchrony. Magic flooded over Harry in a wave; the wall shattered and Harry felt his knees stop moving. The tension in him released like a shot arrow, but he turned his head to see the man in the booth looking up in suspicion. The device in his hand was smoking.

Their car pulled away from the booth and Harry breathed.

One step closer to Tom.

–––

It would've just been a leisurely ride _on the back of a car,_ wind whipping at them and their hands clenched white, if they knew where they were headed and if the Muggle driving them wasn't absolutely nutters. They went at thrice the speed their previous one had gone and Harry honestly feared for his life. His mind was rattling in his skull a little.

They were streaking down a familiar road, and suddenly Harry spotted a familiar house. "That's Tom's house! I think I might know the way from here!"

"What?!" Malfoy shouted back.

"That's–" Then the car jerked to such a violent stop that if they hadn't been stuck down, they would've both gone head-first through the glass. "Ohmerlinshit _fuck–"_ As it was, Harry lost his tenuous grip on the cloak and his side fluttered free. He tried to catch its edges, but it was a lost cause. "Bollocks, we have to get off– _finite–"_

The car lurched forwards, turning, just as he said the words. Then the Muggle stepped on the accelerator again and the two of them were thrown into the air. Harry closed his eyes and tensed, bracing for the impact that would probably shatter a number of his bones, but then he was suddenly weightless and gently drifting to the ground. He forced his eyes open again. "Cushioning?" He asked Malfoy. The blond, sprawled across the ground, nodded. They stumbled to their feet and hurried back out onto the street, where Harry barked a laugh born of exhilaration. "Oh god, that was Tom's neighbour!"

Five minutes later they were at Tom's front door, wondering how they'd break in. They opened the door with a well-placed _alohomora,_ but Harry recalled that there had been more security systems; what he didn't remember was how to get past them.

"Fucking hell." Malfoy swore. "Look at me."

"What?"

"I'm a Legilimens too."

"That's bullshit, why is everybody–" Unlike Tom, Malfoy scouring through his mind was nowhere near subtle. Harry instinctively struggled and Malfoy hissed at him. "Stop squirming!"

Scenes flashed by in front of his eyes. They all included Tom: (dear Gods, there was the time Harry had sat in his lap), perched on a abandoned building or waving a gun, crouching at Tristan's feet, until finally Tom was pushing open a door, turning to punch in a few numbers that Harry had peeked in to see.

"Got it, let's go." Malfoy stepped through the door and pressed four numbers, looking rather smug. _1231._

"Could you use Legilimency to learn how to drive a car? We can take Tom's. I'm sure he's got more than one around here."

Malfoy seriously considered it for a moment. "We'll give it a shot. Let's go find these cars."

Harry took a short detour, entering Tom's room and approaching the desk. There was one particularly ratty journal that read _grimoire._ Harry was sure he knew what that one was, and so he took it. He took another important-looking journal too, with a nondescript black cover. All the other books looked like they were for genuine reading. He left them alone, shrunk the ones he had taken, and stuffed them into his trouser pocket.

"Potter, grab a quill and paper for me in there, will you?"

Harry pocketed a pen and tore a few pages from a few books. They wouldn't be missed. Then he actually joined Malfoy for his search for a car.

Not a long time later, a huge wide rattling door opened and they were faced with another gleaming black vehicle. Malfoy whistled. Harry walked up to it and performed the unlocking charm until it rumbled to life. He stuck his head into the driver's side, glancing around at all the car's knobs. There was a large screen in the centre, framed by buttons. Harry looked back at the wheel, and then took a double take, eyes darting back to the screen.

"Is this what I think it is?"

Malfoy peered inside. He paused, eyes widening. "I hope that's what you think it is."

On the screen were the words: _Autopilot._

––––

They would've made for a rather odd sight, Harry surmised. A car with absolutely nobody in it. The two of them were riding inside this time, and when they approached a familiar compound, Harry began to grow increasingly nervous. "We're going to have to ditch the car. There's another one of those booths."

They turned off the autopilot and Harry offered to veer Tom's car onto the grass, into a small stream. After they left the vehicle behind, they walked past the booth under the cloak no problem, entering a recognisable carpark. Muggles were hurrying around everywhere, some dragging suitcases, some talking on their little black devices. It didn't take a lot of searching to spot the huge white jets Harry had previously thought were beasts. Every now and then a Muggle would climb up a long flight of stairs into one of these 'jets.'

"Legilimency?" Harry whispered to Malfoy under the cloak.

"Yeah, they're going where we need to."

It was like watching a movie play before his eyes. They awkwardly maneuvered up the stairs as silently as they could, tiptoeing past the Muggles at the doors. Inside were plush seats, attached to the walls, facing inwards, occasionally broken by a table instead. The jet was already filling up from the back. Noticing the how there were gaps under the chairs, Harry tugged Malfoy to the ones closest to the door, and the two of them squeezed under. The arrangement went like this: empty space, chair, chair, table, chair, and so forth. Their feet were pressed against the table and Harry rolled over to face the wall. Shoes passed by, sinking into the carpet as the plane filled with chatter.

Harry waited with bated breath, expecting anyone to sit down any moment and force Malfoy closer towards the wall. It was awfully stuffy under the cloak. Harry couldn't believe they had to spend yet more time under it. "Just think of it," Malfoy muttered dryly at one point, "as an awfully dangerous sleepover. I'll keep an eye out." Harry really did doze off at one point – in and out of consciousness. He was only startled awake again when he felt the entire thing begin to move bumpily.

A shiny pair of shoes walked by Malfoy's invisible head. "Last two. Mr Riddle's already on his way; Ms Cavanaugh has called in sick." The voice said, obviously referring the lady Amelia. The speaker raised his volume. "To all who are joining us on our flight today, first and foremost: I am deeply apologetic for the inconvenience this abrupt departure may have caused all of you. I understand that many of our number were unable to clear their schedules for this very reason. In recent light of the given order to withdraw our warheads from the Omega station, alongside the discovery of a magic wielder in the very city, it is _crucial_ that all of you here have arrived to oversee the operations and security in our…" The man droned on, and Harry felt his eyelids grow heavy. He wished he could see out the window. Instead, the metal around them rattled as they picked up speed. As the sky took the plane into its hold, Harry succumbed to bone-weary fatigue.

Sleep came in snatches. He dreamed of grey eyes and falling, and when he hit the ground, his eyes snapped open. A 'jet', he remembered. They were in the sky. He could feel the floor thrumming, there was a wall an inch from his face, Malfoy's shoulder was poking his back, and the thought seemed to crystallise in his mind: they were flying. Not on a broomstick. On a humongous, heavy lump of metal that somehow rode the wind.

Harry groped around for the journals he had taken with him, rolling over and tapping Malfoy to offer him a pen and torn page. Malfoy took it silently, whereas Harry opened one of the books sideways and began to read.

 _Slytherin._ The first page said. He turned it, and there were lists and lists of spells. One thing stood out particularly, though. It was a sentence that read: " _You will never hold a wand or meet another of your kin. Guard your isolation for the years."_

Harry paused, then he quietly tucked that one away and took out the other journal instead. That grimoire was reserved for Slytherins. Reading it felt horribly, deeply, intrusive.

This other one, if he remembered correctly, it wouldn't–

 _Tom Marvolo Riddle._ Elegant script curled. On the next page read _the orphanage is cold and it is silent._

–or perhaps Tom had lied.

What about only opening to blood relation? No, Harry realised. It probably opened to every witch and wizard. Because if a wizard had stumbled over this journal, that meant Tom had failed, and he would want them to know his story then.

 _Martha bought Dennis a rabbit. She tells me that I'm her favourite because I am well-behaved, and she promises me that one day she'll get me out of here. I'm not sure I believe her._

There were no dates for the entries.

 _They told that story again after tea. Mrs Cole watched me the whole way through. Sometimes, I wonder if she knows. I was far too obvious when I was younger; what sort of child runs away when the fireplace is struck up, storyteller settled into an armchair, and a tale of animalistic, barbaric Wizards told?_

 _I remember what I had felt when I first discovered my magic. Terror._

Harry skimmed through, peering at the words in the darkness.

 _I heard Martha confide in Mrs Cole. I am too 'withdrawn' now, but withdrawing is the only way I can survive here. I must endeavour to improve my acting. I think Amy is an acceptable enough airhead to 'befriend.'_

Even the handwriting morphed from hesitant loops to smoother strokes.

 _If you are too clever, they tear at your mind until you are driven insane with hate. If you are too beautiful, they cut off your locks. If you are too strong, they strike in the dark with their daggers. If you are too kind, they play you until your heart shatters. I have seen them do all of these things._

 _I've read somewhere that humans are adapted for survival of the fittest. These_ are _humans in their most primal form. I am a threat to them. Too outstanding. Too brilliant, and they seek to bring me down. Little do they know they've already succeeded in doing so, through every mockery about magic they make._

Harry read on with a bitter taste in his mouth. There were tales of growing up hiding, about practising magic in empty cupboards and behind locked doors–

 _Dennis opened the cupboard and I obliviated him._

 _I am hiding downstairs in the closet now. What if I did not obliviate him properly? What if he's told Martha? I have never used that spell before, but it leapt to my tongue as if natural._

 _It is very dark. There are spiders in my hair, and I am simply writing because I do not want to think. How could my parents ever leave me in a place like this? With a burden, with a secret so heavy? I don't want to be here. I don't want to do this._

–Stories about biting his tongue until it bled to keep from talking back and drawing attention.

Finally:

 _Martha adopted me. I practise magic daily, now, when she is gone. She has a garden. I have a bed warmer than the last. I will go to school, and they will allow me to skip all the grades I can._

 _Is this how it feels to be free?_

The next passage was only one sentence, and written in deep blue pen.

 _I do not believe in freedom; my silent journey is set in stone._

Harry's fingers felt numb as he read through more and more passages that detailed Tom's life in his new home.

 _Martha's kindness extends too far. She has taken Dennis home. He sneers at me in the corridor, but I will not give in to his taunts._

 _He does not see me in school because I am 'the prodigy.' He would never be in the same class as me. Martha is so proud of me: she turned up at my awards ceremony and I was so shocked I nearly tripped on my way off the stage. She laughed at me for it later._

 _Sometimes at dinner, when Dennis has already gobbled down his meal, I thank her in return. For her kindness. For taking me away from that hellhole. For being an entire family for me – as fake as it may be. I know she can never be there to support me all the way._

 _She waves dismissively and tells me 'she had to save me.'_

This was Martha…? Harry already knew how their story ended. He skimmed over more passages describing Tom's life at school as an aloof, friendless student.

 _My textbooks have been torn, as if that would prevent me from completing my work. From my window I can see the rabbit hutch. It has a new flooring. Strips and strips of paper._

 _Dennis must be going mad._

Harry was almost afraid to keep reading, but he was drawn into this book with its bent pages and smooth ink. It was the closest to Tom's heart that he'd ever get.

 _How unfortunate that his rabbit mysteriously escaped and wandered onto the road._

There was a torn page. Then another. There was a huge block that had been inked out. Harry peered, but he caught only a few words. _I'm so_ _–  
_ – _punish ment–  
_ – _Dennis– –he deserved it–  
_ _why? –I  
_ – _it never works–  
_ – _anger, it sears–  
_ – _no_ – – _justice...?–  
–broken as he is, I feel–  
_– _I think I may have lost my way._

Line were scrawled on the edges that still remained. _I cannot breathe for drowning in loathing._ And another: _Fight fire with fire. They made my life hell, and I will do so in turn._

The writing resumed on complete pages as though nothing had ever happened.

 _No one outstrips me in my studies, but I have my eyes set higher. I attend a few lectures, though I must be about five years below the average age. Martha takes me to the city for the lectures nonetheless. The teachers approve of my decision. The students do not, though, because I am their competition. Because I am better._

 _If you are reading this, you must understand the nature of Muggles. Their morality is a lie. Altruism does not exist. If they ever extend a hand to you, they expect a hand in return, or they simply bask in the glow of 'doing something good' and growing their ego. Their society has brainwashed those 'altruistic' into following a manipulative, hypocritical definition of justice, but I have seen their true selves in the slums of the orphanage. Those truths I will remember forever. Muggles live in narrow, pinholes of worlds, blind to the suffering of those around them._

 _I think Dennis is still growing progressively more schizophrenic after what I did to him, even though he shouldn't remember it. He's started watching me everywhere, even into the bathrooms. He whispers to himself and he is the only one more friendless than me on the school grounds. Martha worries for him. I hope they send him to the asylum._

Harry glanced back at Malfoy, but was immediately stopped by a hand. Malfoy didn't want him to see what he was writing.

 _Though there are exceptions, Muggles as a whole are weak and underhanded, yet their strength also spawns from their thirst for power. They adapt. Improve. What they fall to is their ruthlessness. Their seas are filled with poison that will not decompose. They scorch their skies. They drain their lands of life. It seems like Wizards and Muggles are two broken halves. Wizards grow old and stale and wither, whereas Muggles drive themselves into oblivion._

 _I hope I will still be alive to witness them fall._

He could feel his heart sinking, because then the entry he had dreaded crossed the page.

 _Dennis saw me today, in the garden. I was alone with my magic. My Obliviate did not work; his mind was too broken because I had wiped his memory and filled it with pain so many times in the past and present._

 _He had to be silenced. It had to be done._

 _I don't want Martha to come home. She will know. I tore his body in my panic, and the entire garden reeks of magic. The police will investigate. They will all know and I will have failed in everything I am alive for._

 _For the first time in a long while, I think I am afraid. Martha finishes work in an hour. By the end of that hour, I will have to cut my ties and truly pick up the mantle._

 _...I did not want the world to catch up so soon. Responsibility is more terrifying than anyone can imagine. How easy it would be to pull a girl off the street, impregnate her, burden her with these journals, and leave my body swinging. How easy it would be to die and leave the Wizards to suffer, but I am not one to take those roads._

 _I have a world to prove myself to. Muggles will never win while I still stand._

The next entry was written in deep, inky black darker than the skies.

 _She knew as soon as she saw what the garden had become._ _The look in her eyes–_

 _I begged her to forgive me. I still had blood on my face. I told her I was sorry, I was so sorry for being born into this world._

 _She screamed and turned to flee._

 _I silenced her, dragged her under the trees, and she began to cry. For Dennis. For herself. Because in that instant, to her, I ceased to be a child and instead became a monster. There was no Tom from the orphanage. No Tom that had been spat upon or beaten. Tom was replaced with one word: Wizard._

 _At the very end, even she turned from me. No amount of pity and affection she'd grown for me had remained._ _Even she, poisoned by the words and the ways of the Muggles! I hate them for it. One day I will return to this town and raze it to the earth._

 _I wish I could've said sorry to Martha before she had to see what I truly am. She made my life much more bearable, made my goal so much closer. She had such a big heart and so much sympathy to spare. I do not think I will ever meet another human like her._

There was a very large gap that Tom had filled with mindless lines. Harsh, cutting, they were etched into the paper, as though Tom had spent a long time simply thinking it all over while carving a chaotic path.

 _For all my thanks and all that she replied, the truth is that she never saved me. I cannot be saved – not from my fate._

 _Freedom does not exist. I think my path was always written in the stars._

 _This will be my final entry now I leave my childhood to climb higher into this wide world. If you are my son, my daughter, and I have given this to you, do not be frightened by your lonely task. The cunning and the strength and the magic of every one of our ancestors stands with us. We do not need anyone else._

 _Good luck._

–––

When the pilot announced landing, Harry was a thousand times more sombre. He cast a shrinking charm on the two journals and peered over at Malfoy, who also looked as though he'd aged years in the span of hours.

"Take these." Malfoy whispered, stuffing something into Harry's pocket and making him jolt. "They're instructions you'll need to look at later, once you're inside."

"How can you already have things planned out?"

"I'm a Slytherin." Malfoy murmured in reply, peering at the shoes strolling past. Suddenly the world seemed to jerk and then their ears were filled with a thunderous rumbling. The plane ground its way across the runway, making their teeth rattle in their skulls. The captain gave a few worthless words and by then they had crawled out from under the empty seats and were raring to go.

Harry felt like he'd just woken from a year-long stupor. He needed to get his brain back into that gear, into that desperation that he'd felt when Tom had closed the door. He needed to get back into the world after drowning in the pages of Tom's past.

It was still there, that fire of his, but it had a new label.

 _Let's go save Tom._

* * *

a/n one more then epilogue. let's do this.

this went to hell really fast. i dont even know i have like a minute attention span so the mood flies between crack (the traffic) and disaster


	6. this is the hour this is the end

a/n you might have skipped a chapter bc I uploaded this one fairly quickly. merged epilogue onto the end

a word of warning: there's a bit of injury/graphic description of these injuries

* * *

The Omega power plant overshadowed both the wards and the endless line of traffic because of its _detail._ Whereas the others had simply stretched on like a pattern, the power plant was an enormous facility with countless buildings, sealed off with a sparking wire fence. And the platform it was all on…! If Harry looked into the distance, he could see where it dropped off into sky.

With a pang, Harry realised this thing must have been what started this entire disaster. The electricity from this very place that had caused the wards to flicker. From those countless domed buildings to those huge, towering grey hyperboloids billowing steam. It was the huge towers that drew his eye. They looked as though they were churning out clouds. Their sides were stained and they rose skywards in huge concrete arcs.

The two were standing at the foot of the plane, waiting for the other passengers to disembark. Then they'd follow the most important-looking person and hopefully strike lucky. Harry could feel a clock in his mind, counting down, because surely Tom had already arrived and was already on his way to wreak devastation.

Someone opened a door in the wire fence and soon they joined in the traffic flow, following a man in a pinstripe vest. The row of people went walking through the buildings, some breaking off to enter various doors. Harry was certain that their end goal was to get in one of those domed buildings. Aside from the hyperboloids, the domes looked the most important.

An alarm began to wail. Every person froze as several devices on some Muggles' hips crackled to life. "We have a breach in Containment building D. This is _not_ a nuclear meltdown, this is a personnel breach," Muggles burst into panicked conversations and they began to move. "May all security report to Containment building D, I repeat–"

"Harry," Draco suddenly said into his ear, voice trembling slightly. "You were always a hero, weren't you? Follow the crowd and good luck." Muggles were surging around them, all headed the same direction. "Hope not to see you on the other side."

"What are you–"

Draco tugged the invisibility cloak off from Harry's shoulders and suddenly Harry was very, very visible and very much surrounded by Muggles. Malfoy had disappeared. He glanced around quickly to see if anybody had been watching, but all eyes appeared to be looking elsewhere.

The _Slytherin–!_ Where had he gone? Had he _run?_ Harry was jostled around by the now-running Muggles. And had Malfoy told him to go die? The thought of their Unbreakable Vow soothed him only slightly.

He felt his magic gather up beneath his skin in a mixture of anger and dawning dread. He needed to get to Tom, Tom was already so close to his goal. The domed buildings drew closer and Harry could _feel_ it in the air, this heavy magic swirling and spreading its tendrils out all over the buildings. He wondered in a flash why this magic hadn't sparked out all the electricity running in the buildings.

They passed Containment building B, and there were only a few hundred metres to go.

But they never reached the next building.

The wire fences rattled as the world shook with an earth-shattering explosion and the people around him began to shout.

The roof of Containment building D blew to pieces and pillar of great blue blinding light speared the sky. The air rippled with sheer power and Harry watched as the wall of the building began to just _melt._ It flowed and bubbled, and Harry looked away as he felt a tidal wave of pure, roiling, skin-flaying _heat_ wash over him. He saw the Muggles at the front of the procession scream and their skin peel red, their mouths fall open and their eyes shut tight. The world seemed to glow and pulse.

Harry knew better than to look at the light. It would blind him. Sweat broke out over his skin and he knew that soon, he would be baked alive. _Obscuro,_ he cried, wand not even in hand. Harry would not die like this. He would not– he plainly refused _to die like this at the hands of– he needed to get there, to Tom–_ the heat was beginning to distort his thoughts, twisting them into the vicious, primal urge to flee. He felt himself fall and clutch onto a Muggle beside him, his hands scrambling for purchase, closing around a– A body slammed into him and he stumbled, but he had gotten what he needed. He could hardly think through the haze.

Even through the blindfold charm the light was getting brighter and brighter. He might have opened his throat to scream, but it felt raw and dried and he was burning alive. He couldn't hear himself over the roar of the inferno. _Tom– up there, all alone with the sun there in his hands– all these people, writhing in the fire–_

 _Tom– alone in the heart of the storm–_

Harry needed to get to Tom. The thought was crystal clear amidst the chaos. He needed to get to Tom. His foot slipped on something that crunched horribly like a hand, and he fell, turned–

Then he was being compressed on all sides, his insides slamming together tightly and his jaw smashing shut, tearing the tip of his tongue clean off. He felt as though he were being ripped apart by each sinew and rethreaded. The heat was gone, its absence a void, but instead there was this pressure that threatened to burst his eyes a bloody uncontrollable red. His hand gripped tightly onto what he had stolen, head rattling and spinning as he felt the world re-order him–

Quiet.

The ground came as a sudden solid shock and Harry was in so much agony that he could not breathe for ( _drowning in loathing_ ) screaming. He could hardly process that he'd just Apparated for the first and last time to somewhere unknown– to Tom? Blood filled his mouth, and something was so very wrong, because there was an emptiness in him that was filled with searing pain, a balance that had been disturbed, something missing and something– he had Splinched himself.

His right arm was gone.

His entire arm. From the shoulder socket. It was just gone and although he could not see it, red pooled like a river from the gaping hole. He couldn't process it. He was going to pass out from the blood loss, and he was going to die. Harry laid there on his side, screams dying off, his good arm crushed beneath his own body.

"Harry?"

Tom's voice. Harry still had the blindfold wrapped tightly around his eyes. The heat was gone, the roar of the sun was gone, kept out by some barrier like the Wards, but he knew the light was still all around. He could feel it threatening to sear right through the blindfold. "Tom," he gasped. "Please." Blood trickled over his lips. It coated his teeth where he had bitten his tongue.

He could feel Tom's magic come closer. Come closer Tom, please, come closer, come…

"We're in the heart of the star, Harry." Tom said irreverently, distantly, as though he could not believe Harry was there. "A red supergiant... always has an iron core where there's no more fusion. No more creation. Just a solid, solid, core. You're here, Harry. You're here with me. You're really here."

Oh, Tom, so lonely up there in the sky, in the eye of the storm.

"I had to look into the light, Harry. Harry, I'm blind, but it's so worth it. I can feel the magic touch the wards, strengthen them, and move on to the Muggles. I can feel the sun under my skin and it's burning me away.

"I've made it, Harry."

Harry spoke through his pain. "Come here, please, let me…" Harry's mind was starting to swirl. He needed just one thing, he needed Tom– no. He needed to save all the people.

"I can see you. Your magic– it's as brilliantly clear as you are." Tom whispered. Harry felt Tom's knees hit the ground beside him. "And the sun burns. It's burning away my darkness…"

"Tom, Tom, I'm going to die. Will you– will you hold me?"

Warm arms wrapped carefully around him and Harry felt Tom's head rest gently against his neck. He felt his own blood seep between them, soaking into the clean white shirt Harry knew Tom wore. Harry twisted a little in Tom's embrace, freeing his own arm and bringing it between them.

"Anywhere else, Harry, anytime else..." Tom murmured against his skin. "And I think I might have lov–"

"Please..." Harry cut in quietly. "Forgive me, Tom." There was blood on his face. He could feel it crusting. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for being born into this world when and where I was..."

The body by him stiffened, straightening back up. "Harry– what are you saying? That's what I wrote in–"

 _Finite._ His blindfold fell away. He felt as though his skin were burning with what he was about to do.

Harry opened his eyes to see Tom one last time. The light around them was too bright, an inferno, it cracked and blistered his eyes. He felt his retina light aflame and knew he would never see after this. Tom was still so beautiful, his dark curling hair and his grey eyes unseeing, the way his face was more open than it had ever been in his whole lifetime, and a blinding orb that hung above his head, the sun–

Harry pressed the stolen gun against Tom's stomach and squeezed the trigger.

The world stopped as the gunshot rang, and with it, the inferno outside faltered. Tom's mouth was frozen in a silent gasp.

The sun fell with Tom's body and straight into Harry's side. He threw aside the gun, his trembling hand groping for the relic and thinking, desperately, _save us, save us, please._ Its heat and light flickered under his hand and then it became the moon, casting him in gentle light.

The burning he'd felt against his skin was radiating from his pocket, he dimly realised. A howler flitted from it and hovered in front of him, but his eyes no longer saw. He could hardly even hear anymore. Could hardly think. Just felt Tom's body against him, their blood mixing as they lay there dying.

" _Harry. Potter,"_ came someone's voice from the red envelope. Who was it…? Mal- Malfoy? Draco? The voice slurred words he couldn't hear. "... _I w_ _ould've launched the missiles by now… Hope you two survive… Sorry, you know… I led you… It was all really my fault…"_

 _Save us,_ Harry pleaded. _Save…_

He fell to unconsciousness just before the moon shattered. It burst into pieces, some shards embedding into their bodies, magic radiating from it that coalesced into a whirling, white sphere around them. The flames had died out by now, but another type of disaster was raining down from the clouds.

The Omega power plant crumbled from the sky and inside the wards, where the Wizard World had been cast into darkness, they saw true sunlight for the first time in hundreds and hundreds of years. Tom and Harry drifted down in their small sphere, untouched by the destruction.

Harry opened his eyes at one point and saw flames, flames, solid black smoke drifting into the sky, a city on fire that burned for nights and days. Explosions that blotted out the sky. At one point he thought he saw Tom sitting above him, but he couldn't be sure, because he had _shot_ Tom. He had– Gods, he had shot Tom.

And Malfoy was dead.

He did not know how much time had passed, but he was laid on a block of concrete in the middle of a wasteland, gnarled blasted trees dotting the landscape. He hardly aware of the fact that his arm was only a stump but no longer bleeding, and Tom, Tom–! The man was no longer lying next to him. Harry raised a shaking hand. He could see? He wasn't blind...

The man was sitting there, smiling tiredly at him. Old blood caked his shirt and the shimmering ward around them was gone.

"Can you believe we're alive, Harry?" That _voice_ , with its subtle rises and falls. Harry wanted to hold Tom and hold him forever. "And I think Malfoy still bombed all the major cities anyway. We're–" He cut off suddenly, face shuttering closed as he looked up.

Harry followed his gaze to the face of a few familiar wizards who appeared from behind broken trees and jagged slabs of concrete. Aurors. "The wards fell?" He asked, his voice and throat feeling like they'd been through a grater.

A very familiar face pushed through the Aurors. "Harry!" His father gasped, hope flickering through his features. "I thought you were–" He stopped when he saw Harry's missing arm. Attempting to maintain his professional demeanour, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again they were glistening. "Please, that's my son. Can we get him to the healers? And his friend there. We–" He hesitated, looking directly at Harry when he spoke. "We need to continue patrolling the area to look for healthy land. Harry, my son... welcome home. We've all missed you so much." At the end, that was all he managed.

Harry nodded at his father, turning to look at Tom as a few Aurors approached them and the rest of them moved away. Uncaring of the people around them, he held his one hand out to Tom. He could see the turmoil in those grey eyes. All his life he'd been alone, without all these people. Harry hoped that, at least, if Tom chose not to stay, Harry could be with him.

Tom hesitated. For a moment Harry thought he'd bolt, but then he reached out and intertwined their fingers. His grip was strong and stable.

Things were going to be all right now.

* * *

 _Epilogue_.

There were no instructions in Harry's pockets. They were letters addressed to Draco's family, carefully scrawled on in blue pen across a torn page about Muggle security systems. How terribly, terribly, ironic. Harry had handed them to Lucius and Narcissa, unable to say another word when they came to visit him in St Mungo's. When Hermione and Ron had visited, he'd given them a very quick and abridged version of events, not wanting them to know the details of what had happened until he came to terms with the fact that Draco Malfoy had died for _him_.

He and Tom hadn't needed anything besides a lot of food and water, apparently, so they were out in days. They'd only got into the foyer when a journalist who'd somehow known of their involvement accosted them. Tom's hand had immediately darted to where his gun was hanging on his belt. (The Healers hadn't recognised it as a weapon, so Tom had been allowed to keep it. Harry didn't think the man'd part with it anyway.) Harry told the journalist to screw off, plainly. Tom just looked a little perturbed at the quill that was moving on its own.

When they'd stepped out onto the streets, Harry noticed Tom's concealed surprise. The streets were filled with activity. If the animated robes weren't enough, or the owls constantly aflutter, or the close-knit nature of it all in comparison to the city's skyscrapers, it would be the wizards roaming around overhead on broomsticks or the moving pictures plastered to the walls.

Harry spotted _Missing Wizard_ posters featuring both him and Malfoy that hadn't been taken down yet.

"Hey, Tom," he said to the man beside him. They stood unmoving in the centre of the busy street. "Do you want to go home?"

Tom looked at him with some surprise, wrenching his gaze away from a man riding a dragon that'd just soared into view high above the street. "I don't have a home here." He said plainly.

Harry knew, quite suddenly, what he meant.

"Then let's go and help with their search." Harry said, taking Tom's arm. A copy of the _Daily Prophet_ was lying on the cobblestones, announcing that the wards had fallen, the Muggles and the world outside had been weakened, and teams of Wizards were moving out to speak with what Muggles were left to establish some sort of peace. More Wizards were also stationed out to scout for habitable lands or cleanse it of radiation. They were moving out, slowly, but surely. There was no mention of Harry nor Tom in the papers. He'd requested it to be that way.

"I'm not one of you." Tom said. He raised a hand and then sparks danced from his fingers, twisting into an image of the city that had burned. It solidified, snaked – twisted into a solid form. A child nearby gasped.

"Mister, mister, do you do wandless magic?" The child's high voice caught the attention of a few others, and more eyes turned to Tom.

Tom blinked at the child. "Yes," he answered softly. He opened his hands and pure white magic twisted between them, pulsing and blazing. He shaped it into a small sphere, grey eyes intense, the entire street watching now. In his hands coalesced a small ball of rock. "Have you reached for your magic lately, Harry?" He asked, the ordinary-looking rock radiating a strength that captivated even the Ministry workers passing by.

Harry tried, automatically trying to reach for his wand with his stump of a right arm. Instead, his left hand shot sparks as though ignited. His eyes widened in surprise as the sparks went to join Tom's impromptu rock, the entire thing crusting over with ice and starting to glow faintly.

"This," Tom raised his voice to the crowd that had gathered, "is a meteor. It's what you might know as a shooting star."

Suddenly it blazed in Tom's hands, igniting with a blue flame. People gasped. Tom craned his head upwards, to the afternoon sky, and lobbed his shooting star upwards.

It did not come down. It'd stay up there, in the sky.

"Make a wish, kids." He called, grabbing Harry's arm. "Get me out of here." He whispered. Harry grinned at him, spurred by the sudden surge of magic in his bones, and Apparated. Unlike the first time, it was as easy as breathing.

They appeared in the wasteland, standing high up on the husk of a building. The air around swirled with debris and dust. A burnt city stretched all around, shattered and scarred, blackened and never to return. The wind whipped at them, the scaffolding swaying. In the distance, Harry could see Wizards on their brooms, scouting over the area. They'd gone a very long way.

"Do you miss it?" Harry asked Tom, who'd adjusted his grip to Harry's hand instead.

Tom looked around at the buildings that had fallen – the streets that were clogged with splinters and shards. "In a strange way."

"It's okay, you know. If we don't stay in a house like regular wizards. I think we stopped being normal, since..." Harry tugged his hand free and reached up to touch his forehead. There was a strange scar there now, in the shape of a lightning bolt. Apparently one of the moon shards had imbedded itself there. Both he and Tom had been imparted with the relic's final gift.

He took out his wand, turning it over and feeling none of its usual warmth. "I'll keep this, but don't think I can use this anymore."

"You might not want to, with only one hand."

"Can I get a new arm from anywhere?" Harry wondered.

Tom regarded him. "If you do, I want it made the Muggle way. Did you notice the way the sun didn't interfere with electricity? Considering it's the sun's magic you have now, I think it'd be fitting if you..."

"You want me to shoot lightning from my hand? Thought you'd never ask." Harry laughed, leaning against Tom. They were in a precarious position, no doubt, standing on this thin girder, but Harry knew they wouldn't fall.

Tom smiled down at him, a genuine smile that he'd never given anyone else, and turned Harry around for a long, tight embrace.

He asked into Harry's hair, "Is this how it feels to be free?"

–––

Harry ended up revealing the whole story, bit by bit, to Hermione and Ron through the letters they exchanged. He kept it vague to his parents, though. They didn't seem to like the Muggle world or the new treaties that had been established.

He visited home once a week. Aside from that, he and Tom went travelling. Up onto the highest mountains, into the deepest caves, in the middle of the sea – wherever they could go, really. They met magical creatures of every kind, never pledging their allegiance to anyone or anything. Harry tried to go back to Hogwarts at one point, but people stared at his strange wandless magic, his essays wrote themselves, and it was just... it wasn't his place anymore.

Their most visited place might have been Draco's grave.

They were well-known, because sometimes Harry's 'hero complex' would kick in and they'd offer people aid. Other times they simply dropped in to chatter. They were famous particularly for their magic: their power reached points unrivalled. Tom, for one, enjoyed flying with only his magic for support. Harry could do it too, but he let Tom steal his thunder.

It was one night when they were up in the Arctic, watching the stars, cloaked their own warmth. Well, Harry was watching the stars. Tom was trying to tempt a snowy rabbit closer.

"Do you ever want to settle down?" Harry asked, taking his eyes away from where he was watching a shooting star go. "Find a home?"

"Do _you_ have a home?" Tom replied. The arctic rabbit hopped into Tom's arms and the man looked utterly smug. "You know I'll follow."

"I follow you too, so then I guess we're just going around and around in circles."

Tom's hand paused in the creature's fluffy fur. "It's called orbiting, Harry." Then he sighed, placing the rabbit down and watching it scamper. Its bushy white tail seemed to disappear into the snow immediately.

Harry grinned at him for a moment before turning his attention back to the skies. "Hey, can we make another shooting star? I'll actually make a wish this time." Harry spread his hands, letting a little golden ball form between them.

"What will it be?"

"A bit of my heart, I think."

Tom looked at him in surprise, but as it spun and formed into a ball of ice and stone, he tapped it with his finger and ignited it anyway.

"For anyone who ever needs the moon desperately: this will come down." Harry said, holding it up. Tom took it from him, turning the meteor around in his hands. "So even when we grow old get wrinkly, we can do good somewhere else, too."

Tom paused, tossing the thing casually in the air and watching it pick up speed, racing upwards towards space. He kept his head craned upwards even after it disappeared into the blackness.

"I think," Tom began, "my home is in the sky... alone with the clouds, the freedom–"

"And me?" Harry teased, leaning in closer to Tom, feeling his warmth wrap around him.

"Yes," Tom agreed, actually serious. He took his companion into his arms and held on tight. "Up there in those skies. With the stars, with the clouds, and with that endless blue. Up there, with you," he smiled against Harry's hair, "It's true. Freedom does exist."

 _Fin._

* * *

a/n: edited slightly. also totally lost my love for this somewhere near the start so it is rushed, sorry. but i vow to do better in the future


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